Call
by comewithnattah
Summary: Multi-chapter. Based on phone calls between or involving Rick and Michonne. Extra Special thanks to rickskatana for gifting us with the fic cover art.
1. Chapter 1

The screen of her cell phone threw a pale blue light across her face in the dark of her living room. She sat on the floor propped up by the base of her couch and she was in a terrible state. She was wearing his clothes, a pair of sweatpants and one of his dress shirts he wore to work. Her watery weary eyes stared at her lock screen picture.

It was the photo they'd taken on their first weekend trip together. Only he could have convinced her to take Thursday, Friday and the following Monday off. Her office was already short-staffed and swamped, but his promise to keep her in bed all weekend was an offer she couldn't refuse since she'd gotten her first taste of him.

On a bet from her friends, she had made him wait, something that Rick Grimes was not accustomed to. But it made him crave her even more. Six months of only "over the clothes" action was driving them both insane. But to Rick's surprise, instead of losing interest in her, interest was growing. And to Michonne's disbelief, she'd stuck to her guns even after he'd managed to, ironically, spend a night in her bed-

They'd met downtown. He was running late so he parked in the first spot he saw and ended up getting towed. He had been so charming that night that she suggested he spend the night with her. She could have drove him home but she made the excuse that it was late and they were already on her side of town. The truth was she wanted to enjoy his company as long as possible, to keep watching those blue eyes change colors. So they fell asleep watching SNL and woke up the next afternoon with all the contentment of a couple wedded for decades.

When they finally did end up naked in her bed, Rick's aim was to drive her up the walls and he more than succeeded. But with his success, he understood that she had been right to make him wait. He held her, looking out at the glittery lights of the city-scape beyond her 14th story, floor to ceiling windows and understood how unworthy he was of all she'd just given him. But, he made a deal with himself that he'd take it anyway and be good to it.

Michonne had awoken to the sight of his handsome, beaming smile. A haunting voice in her mind told her she loved him, though she decided she wasn't ready for love yet. Not yet. But she felt her cheeks grow hot when she ended up telling him just that less than an hour later. After he'd presented a tray of breakfast from her virtually bare kitchen. A bowl of stale plain Cheerios, left over from her deserted attempt at healthier eating, turned to mush as he matched her 'I love you' with his own and made love to her again.

That morning she felt a bit shamefaced with those words still tingling on her lips as she watched him laser-focused on her naked body in the bright light of day. That session of lovemaking had been full of flirtatious giggles and tranquil displays of affection and Rick was biting his tongue to keep from proposing right there as he studied her squirming bashfully under his touch. All the while, Michonne wondered what the hell had come over her.

That was when things were good between them. Now things were spiraling into an abysmal wreck. And it was all her fault. She saw that now. She just hoped it wasn't too late. She swiped and opened her phone, finding the same photo in her gallery, she expanded the picture until she was pushed off-screen and only Rick's smile and sapphire eyes remained. She couldn't bear to look at herself, standing there in the sun, happy with him. She didn't even deserve that memory. She was disgusted with herself, at a precipice, trying not to go over the edge and at the same time longing to fall. So, she wasted away on her rug trying to swallow her pride.

When she thought she was right she could be bull-headed, to put it mildly. When she realized she was wrong and recalled her ugly performance, she felt nauseous. She had wallowed in a mournful and moody puddle of tears for weeks now. Smothered in the silence of her condo, she made her way to the bar around the corner for a little alcoholic anesthesia. Seven shots of top shelf tequila had sent the undisputed lightweight back to her living room floor to weep over her character flaws and the utter misfortune of seeing Mike that day weeks ago.

Resolved to make atonement and stop this pain, Michonne collected herself the best she could and called him.

Rick's eyes darted over at his ringing phone. His face was stone as he looked at the lit up picture of Michonne, pouting and pretending to kiss the camera with her juicy red-painted lips. She had edited the picture of herself, drawing a crown on her head and writing the words _Kiss the Queen_ at the top. It was a thing she did: steal Rick's phone while he slept or showered, then with a solo photo shoot, she'd change his contact picture of her. Sometimes the new picture would last a week, sometimes only hours. Rick loved it when his phone would ring and there would be a new version of her to make him smile right before he heard her cinnamon and sugar voice. Now, the same picture for three weeks was beseeching him in the dark of his best friend's basement. He let the phone ring, debating whether to answer. It buzzed on Daryl's coffee table under the blare of the basketball game they were watching.

Slumped in his chair, his disapproving host scolded him, "Answer your phone. Don't do her like that, man."

Rick glared at him, wordlessly cautioning him to mind his business and snatched the phone up, making his way out of Daryl's man cave to the light of the first floor. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Rick slid his thumb to green with a pensive sigh,

"Yeah." He answered, callously.

"Rick?" Michonne's strangled voice came through the phone and pierced him right in his gut. "Hi." she said hesitantly.

"Hey." his inflection was short, rigid. It was only one word, but it held barely a hint of that backwoods drawl she'd come to love.

She said nothing for a few seconds, staring at her big toe rap against the tassel on her purse to distract herself from the unfamiliar tone he was using with her. "Rick... I..." Michonne squeezed her eyes shut, failing tremendously to keep her emotions in check.

The love-starved man shifted against the wall in Daryl's split foyer, listening to her breath and sniffles amplified by the speaker on his phone. He kept looking at her picture with the childlike hope that it would make him feel like she was there in the room. Instead, the happy shot of her puckered lips with the sound of her tormented tears made her feel a million miles away from him; like the happiness he held in his hands was far away, drifting in space. It broke his heart to hear her cry and he couldn't help feel a little guilt about not comforting her.

Yes, it was her fault but it was his instinct to soothe her, to care for her. What was the point of all this anyway? He was going to marry this woman, it was never a matter of _if_ , only _when_. This situation with her ex had proved to be a slight detour but he knew in his heart his destination was still the same.

Daryl knew as much,too. He allowed his friend to crash there but refused to help him bring his belongings into his house. Instead he heckled him with every load Rick brought in from his car. Daryl told him how he thought Rick was smarter than this and that there was only enough room for one brooding asshole there. For nearly a month now, Daryl had been threatening to don a ski mask and kidnap the two annoying love birds, lock them in his deep freezer until they cuddled and made up or froze to death out of spite. Either conclusion would have pleased him now, but he knew it'd be much easier than that for these two heart-eyed idiots to resolve this blow up.

Rick took a seat on the carpeted steps, on the verge of tears, his nostrils flared. "Michonne, stop crying." he said matter-of-factly, to no avail. "Michonne..." he called more forcefully, then softened. "Baby, stop crying." The 'baby' slipped. He hadn't meant to give her that yet. He was still pissed but that _was_ his baby and it tore him apart to hear her cry.

Relieved, somewhat, by that simple term of endearment, she found a little breath in her lungs to talk. "I'm sorry." she eked out in a hoarse whisper.

"What're you sorry 'bout?" He asked her rhetorically. He'd meant to say it in a way that would make her feel absolved, but Michonne's guilt compelled her to confess the sins he already knew.

"I'm sorry I didn't trust you. I'm sorry I couldn't be as good as you are." Michonne burst with fresh tears and the elevated pitch of her voice devastated the man who loved her more than anything else. He struggled to keep his own tears at bay. She rambled out her revised manifesto, "I'll try harder if you come home. I'll be good and I'll make you love me again. If you come home... I can't... Can you please just come home? I can't sleep and I've been sick every morning you haven't been here. I..."

He cut her off, "Listen to me. I can't stop lovin' you. Never. You're a pain in the ass..." he promised huffing out a chuckle, "but you're mine. I thank god for that." But he quickly turned serious, needing to let her know he wasn't one of the love-sick puppies she was used to dealing with and he wasn't going to be disrespected like this again. "You're so fuckin' stubborn, Michonne." He growled through a frustrated sigh.

He had told her that many times. Often it was playful banter. But the last time he told her that, it was in the middle of her favorite restaurant in front of her ex and her co-workers. She was challenging him in front of everybody. She was accusing him of being overbearing, unreasonable. _"You don't get to tell me what to do just because I call you daddy."_ she had told him with an obstinate sneer while her acquaintances looked on.

He could still remember her ex, squaring off with him. Mike was standing there, hovering, like he needed to protect Michonne from him. As if he would ever hurt her emotionally, mentally or physically. But that was how she was painting him, as insecure, like a fuckboy trying to control her life. Rick knew he was anything but. It didn't bother him that she was saying it, not even in this public place- as humiliating as that was.

He was used to her wildness and most times it turned him on. He loved to make her take back the uncouth things she said with a fistful of her hair and her bent over the dining room table or with his face between her legs, teasing her with shallow dips of his finger but refusing to release his tongue unless she apologized. She loved it too, it encouraged her to be outrageous.

But this was something else. He could see in her eyes that she really believed what she was saying about him. She was making herself believe that there was nothing wrong with going out with a group of friends who just so happened to include her ex. The same ex who had made it known that he was still in love with her and trying to get her back. The same ex who had already made a snide comment or two to Rick's face.

Rick had stopped at the restaurant to get her favorite dessert before heading home to her. It was penance for another late night, he told himself, but truthfully his motives were selfish. He'd found a new kink with her. The sounds of her loving on those peanut butter chocolate bombs and the sight of her cheeks distended in gluttony were exactly what he needed following his unfruitful conversation with Lori after his visit with his son. Rick was checking his watch, calculating the time in his head, wondering if he could make it to the florist for tulips before they closed when he saw them coming out of the dining area.

Michonne was laughing with Andrea and Heath while Mike came up behind her with her coat. None of them saw Rick at first, and he kept quiet, debating if he should make his presence known. The matter was taken out of his hands, though, when Mike decided to place his palm on Michonne's hip to alert her that he was back with her coat. Rick felt the muscles in his neck spasm as he watched his girl, engrossed in raucous conversation with the rest of her party, standing there obliviously being pawed at by her ex.

Michonne always thought everything was a game. It was funny to her that Mike was this way, especially after all his grandstanding when they broke up. But Rick warned her that she needed to nip his advances in the bud. Rick trusted her, but he didn't like that she entertained this clown. It sent the wrong message to guys like her ex. When he saw Mike closer to her than he needed to be and the pads of his fingers inconspicuously- but deliberately- grazing her collarbone as he pushed her dreads away for her coat to rest at her neck, Rick lost his mind for a split second.

"Stubbornness don't make you strong, Michonne." He told her now, on the phone, hoping his words got through this time.

It was a hard-learned lesson for her. She wheezed, "I know, I know."

"It just makes you look stupid and immature." He continued more stringently. "This whole thang with that other dude? _That_ makes you look stupid and immature..."

"I know, Rick. You were right about him. I should have listened to you." She felt so stupid and immature. She always thought she was two steps ahead of the game, that her shit never stopped being together. Hearing Rick level with her made her see how much he loved her. He loved her enough to call her out when she was foolishly compromising herself. He loved her enough to let her sulk and be upset. He cared enough to take off the rose-colored glasses and acknowledge her flaws and love her anyway.

Someone having her back like that was a foreign concept to her, so she fought it at first. Now she appreciated him so much and it killed her that she was so combative. "I've been telling myself I didn't need a man for so long, I believed it. I don't know... I mean, I don't need a man. But I do need you, Rick. I need you." She nodded to herself, feeling the suffocating vacuum of that need. "I need you. I love you. Please. You're the only thing I need. I do need you. Okay? I do."

"So how are we gonna fix this?" He demanded.

"I told you. I'll listen. I'll be good."

"I don't think you can be good, 'Chonne." There it was. He used her nickname and that said she was completely forgiven. "You're rotten." he smiled as he pushed his hair back and scratched at his beard.

"I can, Rick, I can. I'll be good _for_ _you_. Come home." Michonne was so contrite she wasn't registering his relenting tone. She was bent on making him see that she understood and that things would be different, that he'd made her better. "Please come home. I'll show you."

"Show me what?" He rasped at her, already tasting her wetness. But he closed his eyes to concentrate on making his point.

"Just come home and I'll show you."

He turned off the speaker and quickly put the phone to his ear, "I'm serious, Michonne. Don't think you can throw pussy at me and fix this."

She couldn't help but smile at how well he knew her antics. "I know. I don't think that. I just meant..."

"But I am going to tear it up when I get there."

end call


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay. I got a lot of requests to continue this story. So I did it. Be careful what you wish for, because part two's are never as good as the original, but I tried because I love you guys and your feedback. I did enjoy this set up and there will be more to come. I hope you guys will stick with me. Let me know what you think.**

 **-comewithnattah**

* * *

Michonne's usual take on comfortable sleeping positions was:

"I can't sleep with somebody all up in my breathing zone, Rick."

So when he tried to get up to go to the bathroom his first morning home and found himself held captive by her arms tight around his waist and her cheek pressing on his bladder, he wanted to take a picture to memorialize this moment forever. But his phone was still in his coat and he had no idea where hers could be. The opportunity ruined, he decided to get up and shower. When he left the bed, Michonne whined out a disapproving moan. Rick planted a series of big kisses on her cheek and she curled up into her many pillows, hungover from the stiff tequila shots from the bar and the stiff back shots from his enslaving cock.

Now, freshly lathered and teeth brushed, he decided to spend the day lounging around the space they shared. Rick wanted to test whether the separation had finally made this place feel like his place too, like a homecoming, after being away for weeks. This was a place he called home only recently, after Michonne dropped more than a few hints about him moving in with her. But she wanted _him_ to ask _her_ , so he played along and gave her the control she enjoyed so much.

He didn't really care for living in the heart of the city, but he quickly realized why Michonne paid what she did to live three short blocks from work. His girl struggled to get ready in the mornings and could never adjust to the 45-minute commute from his house, not to mention she had zero patience for traffic. Michonne didn't really have patience for anything, ever. That's why seeing her hang tough for almost a month without him, for the sake of pride, made him question his future with her. He didn't like this side of her at all. It was a side he wasn't sure he was willing to put up with. But as soon as she apologized he changed his mind completely. He did a few NASCAR moves on his way to her and after the makeup sex they had last night, he was confident she would be good like she promised.

Rick wasn't leaving her side today. He was going to enjoy a full day of her best behavior. He searched their loft style condo for his phone to call his assistant and tell her he wouldn't be in. Rubbing his damp curls with a small towel as he walked down the hall, he heard Michonne's cell ringing under the coffee table. The contact photo of Sasha made him smile,

"'Chonne's phone." He said cheerfully, just happy to be his woman's world again.

"Rick?" Sasha's voice was full of worry. "Thank god!" she sighed in relief.

He was bending to get his pants from the floor where he'd left them last night when he straightened up, alarmed at Sasha's fretful tone. "Yeah, it's me. Hey, Sash. What's wrong?" He held up two corners of his body towel in his fist around his waist, steam still rising off his mature muscular frame.

"I been calling that big head fool of yours all night. I was about to load up the van and come over there. Is she okay?"

He hung the smaller towel for his hair around his neck and relaxed on the edge of one of the island stools in the open concept kitchen, propping his hairy bowed leg up with the footrest. "Yeah. Sorry." He could tell she was pissed, but her voice started to mellow as she finished her sentence. He could almost hear the smile crawl across her face as she realized what _him_ answering Michonne's phone meant. And he smiled too, when he informed her, "She's still sleepin'."

"I bet." Sasha mumbled wickedly, as she pushed scrambled eggs around her pan and adjusted her one-year old on her hip.

Rick couldn't help but turn a little red at that remark. Sasha's acknowledgement of Michonne's spent condition ran his mind right back to the sounds and faces his apologetic girlfriend made last night. Satisfied with his work, he looked down the silent hall to where he knew she was still dead to the world and utterly vanquished. His handsome scruffy face broke into a boyish smirk. "Thanks for checkin' on'er."

Sasha rolled her eyes at the unnecessary gratitude as she balanced her phone on her shoulder, poured juice in a sippy cup with one hand and put her son in his highchair with the other. "That's my sister. I been checking on her for weeks and I'm tired of y'alls bullshit." she snapped. "When you got her messed up like that, it ruins my life, too. Don't forget that." she fussed as she slid a full plate to her oldest boy at the table. "I was about to send my goons to go find your ass and deliver you to her doorstep wearing a bow." Rick chuckled at how much she sounded like Michonne sometimes, even though they were nothing alike. "I hope you're there for good so I can go back to my own damn life." she said, trying to hide the optimism in her voice with a little light rancor. "I have _actual_ babies to take care of you know."

"Yes. I know you do and yes, I'm here for good." He sighed. "How are your little matchsticks?"

"Don't come for my kids, Rick." Sasha threatened playfully, pointing a spatula at his disembodied voice.

He laughed at her mouthy reaction. "Sorry, that's what Abe called'em."

"I learned the hard way: you make babies with a man who has cartoon hair, there's a good chance you'll give birth to a bunch of little leprechauns." She winced as she pressed a few of her fingers against the bottom of her protruding belly to redirect the little foot inside back to a more comfortable position. "This next one will have regular human hair or I'm gonna dye it right there in labor and delivery." She screamed at one of the kids to put something back and the crescendo of a sudden wail pierced through the phone. She turned her attention back to Rick. "Look I gotta go. But tell her to call me please and then make sure she does."

"Yes ma'am." He hung up, smiling at the sweet madness of Sasha and Abraham's life.

The crooked couch and scattered clothes all around the living room were evidence of the sweet madness he and Michonne enjoyed last night. From the moment he saw those big brown foggy eyes looking up at him as he came through the door, he was set to be a man of his word and keep his promise.

 ** _Last Night_**

When she heard the jingle of his keys, Michonne sat up from where she was laying on the couch, wrapped up like a wounded bird. She was exhausted from crying and a bit jittery from the anticipation coursing through her to feel him and smell him. She just wanted to see his face. She didn't care what expression he'd have when he looked at her, as long as she could look right back at him, study his face like a wanted poster and make him see she was ready for him to lock her up and throw away the key. She was at the door pulling it open before he could finish with the lock. She jumped up to throw her arms around his neck and let loose her tears, squeezing him, climbing him like a tree and locking her legs around his lean torso. She planted her face in his neck and inhaled forcefully through her nostrils as her chest tightened inside his enveloping grip.

Maybe it was the time apart, but he smelled even more amazing than she remembered. It was so comforting and familiar. She could never quite name it but tonight she identified his pheromonal fragrance instantly: firewood, snow and whiskey. His scent was so strong, so overwhelming- she was reeling.

The metal embellishments of his military-style jacket were cold from the night air and the slick outer shell made it hard for her to keep herself wrapped around him. She greedily slipped her hands between the black overcoat and his gray woolen sweater. Splaying her palms across his solid, heaving chest, she pushed away the barrier to more intimate contact off his sturdy shoulders. She pulled the sleeves down his strapping arms until the garment fell at his heels. She anchored her gaze in his for a heartbeat as Rick descended on her parted lips in a long bruising kiss.

He relaxed his grip on her and let her slip down his front until her toes met the hardwood floor. Pulling back, he stripped his sweater and undershirt from his body and got lost in her roaming eyes again. Reacquainting herself with the perfection of his body sent her up in flames. Michonne's breath hitched at seeing the result of her man spending his evenings in the gym since he had nothing else to do with his free time. His abs were like stacked stones and felt like marble. But even all that beauty could not distract her from the loss of his body heat. It reminded her of the agony of life without Rick. It had threatened to break her. It _had_ broken her into a million pieces. She was so happy he was back. But as she stared at his smirking face- seemingly, unfazed by this whole ordeal- she could feel beneath her happiness, a curious boiling fury. She was furious that he'd kept himself from her for so long. Night after sleepless night. Her teeth clenched in anger that he'd even _allowed_ her to be so stubborn. Most of all, and most confusing to her, she was fuming at the fact that he'd forgiven her at all.

Her mind was a mess. She couldn't accurately pinpoint the cause of her current irrational emotions. But before she could stop herself, the palm of her hand was coming across Rick's face, turning his head with force and leaving a stinging outline of her fingers just below his eye.

"Michonne..." He sternly called her back to her senses, grabbing her by the wrist.

"Oh my god," she gasped, covering her mouth in shock and apologizing immediately, "I'm sorry, Rick. I don't know why I did that. Don't leave."

"I know why you did it." He said calmly, in a low growl, as he nodded and rubbed his burning cheek with his other hand. Rick knew. He saw it all the time in his line of work. Criminals making stupid mistakes, taunting the authorities, wanting to be punished for their crimes. Michonne wanted to be punished too. She wouldn't forgive herself unless she felt some kind of retribution.

Rick knew every offender had a moral code. Although their idea of right and wrong was usually warped, ultimately all wrongs had to be righted. Michonne could be wild, but she wasn't a criminal. Rick knew that too. But deep down her standard of justice demanded that she pay for her actions. Slapping him was a provocation, a cry for help and he was happy to oblige. If she wanted punishment. He was ready to give it to her.

He took her free hand from her mouth and held each of her wrists tight in both his strong hands, like a pair of cuffs on a fugitive. She was tired of running from him. So, she turned herself in with that phone call earlier.

He spun her around with force equal to her slap, never losing his grip on her, until her backside was flush again his front. "I know why you did it." he repeated, tightening his grip on her arms and pressing her closer to him so she could feel the conviction of his next words. The conviction owed her and the sentence he was passing, was resting hard against her thick soft cheeks and the small of her back. "And I'm not leavin'." He spilled the words hot against the nape of her neck, crisscrossing her arms over her chest confining her to him. He reminded her, his voice scratchy like the strike of a match, "We both made promises, Michonne. You promised you'd be good. Didn't you?"

"Yes." she acknowledged weakly, melting into his hard-muscled body.

"I'm collectin' on that." He twanged. "And I made you a promise too. You r'member what I said?"

A single teardrop fell, landing at her lips and she tasted the salty moisture as she gave a wanton reply, "Yes."

Rick stood behind her like the prison guard walking a convict to the electric chair. He took her slowly from the doorway to the couch and she felt the tingle of his voltage against her skin. The fine hairs on her arms rose and swayed with every puff of his hungry breath. "Damn, woman," his mouth released the words he was thinking in his head, "this feels like the first time. I can't wait to see how good you're gonna be, baby."

Holding her breath was making Michonne dizzy, but she'd forgotten how to breathe and her heart beat in her ears like a warden's boots stomping his rounds. He bent her, sacrilegiously, over the back of her deep purple sectional. His rough treatment of her body leaving her speechless, she could only push a gluttonous, audible exhale out into the room and it echoed off the cavernous walls around them. Rick removed the gray sweatpants she wore, along with her hot pink boy shorts and nudged her ankles apart. Her smooth round bottom was in full view and lit by the dimmed recessed lights of the kitchen a few feet away.

Rick Grimes was the true criminal. He was carrying and knew how to use it. He grabbed her meaty hips and reminded her of the menace he kept caged in his pants. From her waist to her knees, she was pinned against the smooth suede fabric and the frame of the couch. She knew that was the only softness she would experience as Rick pulled her up against the wall of his chest by her hair with his left hand. "You don't ever disrespect me like that again. You understand?" He questioned her as he bit at her shoulder with just enough pressure to make her wince.

She curled her left hand around his left forearm at the back of her head. Her right hand was captured by his own, denying her to feel any other part of him without his consent. Licking her lips, she wiggled her curvaceous, trembling body into his and agreed, "Yes. Fuck me, Rick… please!"

Happy with her answer, he kissed the same spot where his teeth had been and rasped, "Not yet. You like to play dumb, but you know, don't you?"

She didn't respond and he brought a powerful smack across her behind. She howled at the blaze in her flesh and moaned at the pleasure. She was beginning to leak down her thigh and Rick moved her right hand to her wetness so she could feel the effect he had on her. He lifted her hand back up to his mouth, running his tongue along her coated finger tips.

"You know exactly what you do to these little boys out here. Don't you? You're bad. A bad little girl, right?"

She whimpered, ashamed and unwilling to admit it.

"It's okay." Rick allowed her. He let go of her hair, moving to her beautiful breasts. He cupped them gently and grazed her aching nipples with his fingers. "You can say yes. You don't have to play dumb with me." He began to unbuckle his belt. "I know how smart you are. I know what I'm dealin' with here." Shoving his waistband down to free his wired cock, he rolled his warm pelvic area against her body. "Problem is..." Rick continued as he pushed her forward, again, over the couch and pressed his lips to her ear, "You didn't know who you were dealing with. That's what your problem is." He propelled every dense, backbreaking inch past her slick folds to her tight wrenching center. The single thrust knocking an incoherent sound from her diaphragm and Michonne's mouth fell open as her eyes closed.

She finally had him back inside her. She had him back and she wanted nothing more than to gobble up this last meal. Her heart could never forget him but her body was less sentimental, it seemed. She let out a quivering sigh, trying to become accustomed to the size of him again.

Hissing at the intense feeling of her widening walls around his ridged member, his girl begged him to move, twisting on the severe swell of his dick. Motionless for just a moment more, Rick waited for her to relinquish any control she thought she had of this situation.

"Please, Rick. I know." She shook her head, bringing up her next words from the blissful ache in her gut as he remained buried to the hilt deep inside her. "I won't ever again... never... just please. I don't have a problem, Rick. Not anymore. I'm ready to be good... so good. Come on, daddy. I'll be good I swear."

"I know you will." he dragged his hands all over her coke bottle-shape, adoring her coke-colored skin. Her pussy was always ripe but it never felt like this before. Rick collected his strength to keep himself in check. He bore into her at an unforgiving pace as she held on to the back of the sofa, biting her lip to endure it. He was teaching her. She had to know. He had to make it so she'd never forget. "I love you but, I don't play those games, 'Chonne." He told her through the impact of every thrust.

"I'm sorry!" She whined through a shallow inhale. "I understand now." God, did she ever. She wasn't about jeopardize this feeling for anything ever again. Not just the zipping currents she felt bursting through her inner-walls, as high as they made her- but the feeling of being his. He had a way of looking at her, talking to her, touching her- that possessed her. As the couch slid from its spot with the momentum of Rick's punishment, Michonne felt her sex drizzle her sticky sweet pleasure and she knew that he was near to breaking open her floodgates.

Rick could feel it too, and it was his bounty for waiting patiently to bring her in to face justice. "Yeah, that's it. Be good, 'Chonne. Be good." his voice ruffled in his throat and quickly dispatched her, sending her tumbling over the edge with a violent cry. Wave after delicious wave emanated from depths only Rick had roamed. He pulled himself out of her, still stiff as a concrete cylinder, having stolen all her strength. He kicked off his boots and left his dark denim jeans where he stood. Like the hijacker he was, he stole her away too, carrying her to their bedroom to eat up the fruits of his labor.

Rick could tell she hadn't been sleeping in their bed as he spread her legs wide on the neatly tucked sheets. He was more lenient now, using the tip of his tongue to take the sting out of the lesson he'd taught. He flicked her clit tenderly, expertly, until she tensed and craved and melted, screamed, hummed and purred. By the time he emerged from the heady flavor she spilled from her swollen sex, she was like putty in his hands.

Finally, he dove into her again to finish with her. He dropped that hammer gradually with firm determined strokes, and was lost in all her goodness- in her surrender. Her grinding under him, meeting every swirling strike of his formidable cock, made Rick delirious. His name hovering on her hypnotizing lips made his body falter and he slowed to crawl inside her. Still in total control, he told her everything he was feeling then. It was simple, yet infinite in every neuron of his brain. "I love you so much, Michonne." He spoke his final words and came with a quiet grunt inside her- the last breath of a raging beast, finally appeased.

Michonne vowed her love, as well. She was invested in this man. He was in every plan and picture of her future life that she could imagine. But now, her mind could only replay one soundbite from her life. It was the promise he made her a few hours earlier,

 _"I'm gonna tear it up when I get there."_

Promise kept.


	3. Chapter 3

After hanging up with Sasha, he glanced behind him to the front door and saw his coat on the floor along with his sweater. He picked up his things, and fished out his phone to call Carol.

She answered on the first ring with an inconvenienced tone. "Yes, Rick. Let me guess: you're not coming in?" His ever-efficient assistant barreled over his attempt at a pleasant greeting.

"How'd you know?"

"Because you were supposed be here at 9:00 for your meeting with..."

"Tara from Brinks... shit..."

"Tara from Brinks..." They both said simultaneously as Rick grimaced in frustration. "Don't worry she had to reschedule." The older woman said, taking a sip of her coffee as she stacked a few folders neatly on her desk.

Rick proceeded sheepishly, "Sorry, I forgot."

Carol swallowed, "Of course you did." she announced with confidence, nodding monotonously. "I think she's stalling to see if you'll sweeten the deal."

"Yeah, maybe." he agreed. "Think we should keep her on ice?"

"Should I keep her on ice?" They chimed in together again, as she made a note of it. Then the gray-haired pistol perked, "But you're back in the city?"

"How'd you...?"

She interrupted his obvious question with a not so obvious answer, "Your reception's much better than when you're at Dixon's house." Not waiting for confirmation, she spoke sarcastically, "I _guess_ I can spare you today." and ordered him, "Give Michonne my love. I'll call you if need be." Then she hung up abruptly.

Rick sat there a few seconds longer marveling at Carol Peletier's ability to be such a hard-edged commander and at the same time, a loyal foot soldier in the trenches of his security consulting firm. She was definitely a puzzle.

He knew she had been married before because she had a maiden name according to her employee background check. Somebody missed the opportunity to love a wonderful woman, he always thought. Spending time with Carol at work was one of the reasons he indulged Michonne's behavior like he did- to ensure his girl never lost that glint every well-loved woman has in her eyes.

Rick had a feeling Carol was a mother, too. Her resumé said she'd been a crossing guard for six years before she came to work for Rick's little start up. Crossing guard was the kind of job moms got for the hours and the proximity to their kid's schools. But whenever Rick mentioned the cute kid with pigtails in the frame on her desk, she deflected. She had a way of improvising, multitasking and a discipline that screamed she'd been a baking, carpooling, crafting, suburban soccer mom in her past life. Soccer mom or a hired gun.

Funny how those jobs could overlap. He always thought Lori would make a great contract killer. She could get the job done without even getting her hands dirty. God knows she nagged him half to death throughout their divorce proceedings. She still finds a way to make him want to jump off a bridge now and that takes skill with a man as even-tempered as Rick Grimes.

But Carol seemed haunted by memories. Apparently, a hard life had aged her. She wasn't that much older than his ex-wife but she'd been completely gray since he knew her. Rick could only assume she'd had some tragedies in her life. Terrible ones. Even after all these years working together, she wasn't ready to share them. So, he let her keep her secrets.

As an invaluable member on his team, he respected her, listened to her and enjoyed the clear-cut expectations of their friendship. Often, he played referee between her and Daryl's insipid quarrels at work. More often, he wondered when they would both take off their 'life sucks' badges and act on the attraction they obviously had for one another.

Rick sat back at the marble island, checking emails and his calendar when he heard a key at the lock. He quickly moved the few steps to the door and slipped the chain on, just as the visitor pushed it open an inch. The chain tightened in resistance and Rick peeked through the peephole as he secured his towel a bit more snugly at his hips.

He saw Deanna knocking at the door.

"Hang on, Roe." Rick answered, snatching up all their crumpled clothing from spot after spot on the floor and heading quickly back to the bedroom. "I'll be right back."

He threw on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt of his that Michonne had claimed as her own- like she did with so much of his stuff- and made his way back to the door.

"Hey, Roe." He welcomed her in and she tossed her arms around him in a warm hug, happy to see him.

Deanna Monroe was Michonne's surrogate mother in adulthood for the past few months. Her official title was vague, but her job description included housekeeping, cooking, errand-running, and most importantly, level-headed advice from someone with years of experience in a happy life. Michonne affectionately called her "Roe", a shortened form of her last name. Even more than Sasha with her hectic life, Roe had been here for the spoiled rotten wild child while Rick was gone.

The tiny widow and mother of three had been recommended by Maggie to come in a few days a week to help Michonne out in her busy life. Maggie was sick of Michonne never being on time for events, eating junk food everyday like a six-year-old and ruining three hundred-dollar dresses in the washing machine because she never sorted her laundry. She thought her kindhearted, intelligent friend could use a hand in the hot mess areas of her life. Deanna needed the extra money and the company since all her grown kids lived out of state and she no longer had to take care of her husband who passed last year. It was a good match.

Everybody who met Deanna loved her right away. Rick was no different. He loved her even more because of everything she did for Michonne. He squeezed her back through her thigh-length red wool coat. Seeing Deanna now made him realize how much he missed, not only Michonne, but all the other bright pieces and people of her life.

"Now there's a face I'm happy to see!" she said beaming up at Rick as she took off her gloves and black knitted scarf and hat. "Do me a favor, son." She leaned in to whisper, "The next time you think about breaking up with 'Miss Zsa Zsa', in there- don't!" she gestured adamantly. "No woman should ever be that sad..." she concluded, "unless the world runs out of chocolate."

Rick chuckled at her joke and reassured her, "Don't worry. Ev'rythang's settled, now. We're good."

"Well, better late than never, I guess." She shrugged as she sorted the mail over the kitchen island. "She here?"

"Yeah," Rick confirmed, unpacking some of the grocery bags Deanna brought- some food, cleaning supplies, tampons, scented waxes, etc. "She's still sleepin'."

"Good man." She turned to wink at him proudly, then descended into the fridge. "Let me make you guys breakfast. How about some homemade biscuits and gravy?"

Rick had definitely worked up an appetite last night. As much as he didn't want to be fussed over, the country boy in him couldn't say no to biscuits and gravy. "Sounds delicious."

"Well, get back in there with our girl." she pointed. "I'll leave everything warming on the stove and let myself out when I'm done." She tossed him the box of tampons and a pack of make-up remover wipes. "Bathroom."

Rick thanked her with another big hug and walked back to their room. Finding the bed was empty, he noticed the door to the master bath was closed. "Chonne?" he knocked at the door. A garbled moan that he understood as permission to enter came back. He came up behind her as she stood in front of her sink, brushing her teeth and caught her around the waist.

Michonne's foamy smile was somewhat bashful. She had just puked up that tequila from last night and hoped she'd gotten rid of all the evidence. "You okay?" Rick asked her reflection in the mirror, pulling at her hips and absentmindedly bouncing her bottom against his groin.

"Oh, I'm good." she turned to him and smiled seductively. "Just happy you're home."

"Me too. Not really sure that you _need_ me here, though." he said, nodding to the items from Deanna he just placed on her make up table. "'Roe does ev'rythang for you, includin' make you biscuits and gravy for breakfast."

"Oh yeah!" she whispered to herself, doing a happy dance and cheering breakfast. Smiling at the older woman's thoughtfulness, Michonne walked over to her dressing area to put the things away. "She _is_ the Albert to my Batman, that's for sure." she confirmed as she distractedly rearranged items on a cabinet shelf to accommodate another box of tampons next to the unopened box already there.

"See. That's what I need." Rick kept talking as he watched her tidy her space.

"You got Carol." she reminded him. Michonne sat down at her vanity and added a few minor beauty touches: a little moisturizer for her face, a slight cat eye, some mascara and gloss. Rick was leaned against his sink, enjoying watching her primp in the mirror. Damn, he'd missed this. It tickled him how unnecessary it was for a woman so beautiful to spend so much time embellishing perfection. On the other hand, he thought it made sense for her to always endeavor to improve the scenery, given her occupation.

As the senior visual art director for the design company she started with Maggie and Andrea, she had been so busy with work when he first met her, that he could've kissed Maggie when she introduced Deanna to Michonne. With Roe in her corner now, she had more time with him and he selfishly took as much as she gave.

"But Carol don't make house calls." Rick complained, lazily tossing a jar of shea butter over his head and catching it in rhythm. They comfortably fell into their routines as if they hadn't been on the edge of destroying paradise for weeks of days.

"Would you want her to?" Michonne frowned at the thought. She threw her head between her knees, theatrically, to gather her dreads in a bunch and secure them with a hair-tie. Having spent a little time with Carol, she envisioned his cold-blooded co-worker showing up at their place with a bullhorn blaring and launching a bowl of plain oatmeal him like a quarterback.

Rick also recognized that he'd prefer the motherly-type like Roe, baking biscuits, instead of a drill sergeant like Carol barking orders. Still, his imagination explored the silly possibilities, "But, how am I ever gonna be Batman if I don't have an Alfred?"

"You're the Batman who's still fighting crime even though your Alfred died. It just you and Robin now." Michonne gave him an alternate universe to live in.

Warming to the revision, he wondered, "Okay. Who's my Robin?"

"Daryl. Duh."

"Don't tell him that." Rick laughed as he imagined his buddy's reaction to being a sidekick. "Why can't _you_ be my Robin?"

Michonne took real offense. "Because I'm your _Catwoman_!" She swung around on her little tufted vanity bench. "Come on, Rick. Don't embarrass yourself. I'll have to demote you to like... Spiderman or something."

"And there's that mouth." Her avid admirer pointed out, relenting against that razor-sharp tongue. When she used that power for good, it was the highlight of his day. But she could also eviscerate him with a few words, like she had in that restaurant, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Oh no." Michonne defended with a wide-eyed gasping smile, "You can't be mad at that. You know I take my superheroes seriously." She stood up to make amends with her arms around his neck and big juicy smack- this time with her lips against his. "What would Carl say if he heard you right now?" She shook him by the shoulders with mock enthusiasm, "I'm trying to save your image, man!"

Rick laughed, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. "Hey, I got endless cool points with Carl when I pulled a hot chick like you." He kissed her back.

"Rick?" she muttered through the pink pull of his lips with an exaggerated sugary-sweet, non-hostile inflection, "Don't use terms like _cool_ _points_... or _hot chick_."

He tickled her for teasing him and joked, "Why? Is that... _wack_?"


	4. Chapter 4

Ed Sheeran's "Divide" was playing all through the apartment's surround sound speakers. Rick had discovered the song 'Dive' and it quickly became the soundtrack for pining away after Michonne. Now, content in their reunion, they relaxed cuddled on the sofa after eating the food Deanna left. As usual, in his gray basketball shorts and navy tee, Rick felt underdressed next to her- though he was considerably more covered.

She was wearing only a bra and panty set. He wasn't sure how many bra and panty sets the average woman had. He could only remember Lori having maybe two or three actual sets. Michonne had to have over 40. Whenever she went shopping she came back with a new bra and panty set. Rick wasn't sure if that was normal. It seemed kind of excessive, especially to his low-key frame of mind. But that was Michonne: excessive.

She made sure he couldn't complain. She always looked gorgeous, like a work of art traipsing around the house in nearly nothing. She'd laugh at his predilection to stare as though it should be a normal site for him by now. But the coral and mint floral print she had racked over her curves today, looked like fireworks in the night sky against her ochre skin, Rick was pretty much zombified at the sight of her.

She rested at his side and from his angle above her slouching posture, the fare of her petite breasts was on full display above her flat belly. Her pedicured feet, resting on the coffee table, the cross of her perfectly-toned legs and voluptuous crowding of her thighs disordered every thought he had. One way or another, all her stunning features led to what he couldn't see from this vantage: the masterpiece between her thighs and the happy fat ass she sat on.

They were catching up on the events of each other's lives since they'd been apart, when Michonne mentioned her sister's due date and he finally remembered to tell her that Sasha called. He thanked the Lord he'd remembered before Sasha had to call back. The man who had been ordered to 'tell her to call me and then make sure she does' thought he had escaped the pregnant lady's wrath- if only Michonne would cooperate and _make_ the call.

He handed her phone to her.

"I don't feel like doing a phone call with her right now, Rick." She tossed the phone back on the coffee table and wiggled further down into the nook under his arm. "I'll call her later. When you go to work tonight, I'll have plenty of time to talk. I just want to focus on you right now." She crawled into his lap, mounting him like a saddle and giving him slow plush kisses with her pretty lips. In this new position, he could finally see her other plump little lips through the smooth cling of her microfiber bikini-cut bottoms and his manhood quickly paid homage.

He kissed her back a little, but quickly pulled away, recognizing her familiar technique for distraction. Rick set his mind back to purpose, "You don't feel like talkin' to her..." he acknowledged. "I don't feel like gettin' yelled at." He stretched forward and she dipped backwards with him. Michonne kissed his neck even more shamelessly with her hands gliding through his, still uncombed, mop. He picked the phone back up and put it in her hands. "Stop it." He reprimanded, trying to ignore the humor he found in her natural inclination to be difficult and non-compliant. He gestured to the phone, "Call."

Michonne sucked her teeth, sighed and grumbled, "She's so damn nosey! She's cooped up in the house with all those kids and she's bored." She looked at him now, hoping his usual (and commonly ignored) request for privacy in their relationship would get her off the hook, "All she wants is to hear about what we did last night."

Rick simply looked at her, unfazed by any argument she made. "I'll be glad when she can go back to work and have some business of her own. I don't care. I'm not calling her." She shook her head critically as she went to their text messages and started typing. "I told you, I have to go over there tomorrow anyway to get this baby shower and nursery straight." She said with her characteristic stubbornness, "I'll send her this text and she can love it or leave it."

 _ **Hey little big sis. Rick told me you called. Don't worry. I'm ok. I'll be over there around six tomorrow.**_

Michonne concentrated on what to type as Rick replied to her rant,

"Sasha's got a lot of business, trust me." Rick piped up, knowing how hard motherhood was, seeing Lori struggle with just one kid. "She may be cooped up, but she is nowhere near bored." He recalled the battle of breakfast he'd listened in on earlier. "When I talked to her this mornin', it sounded like she was back on the front lines... and the kids were winnin'." He chuckled glad to be done with that part of parenting but also looking forward to doing it again, at some point, with the lady on his lap.

They had talked about it seriously before the whole debacle with Mike and agreed it was something they both wanted. Michonne was determined to walk down the aisle with a pre-baby body in a slinky lace wedding dress. She'd felt like he might pop the question soon and then maybe once Rick sold his house they'd try for a baby. She wasn't sure if all the drama of the past three weeks had changed that timeframe though.

Rick knew he had to have his money more than right for that next step, with all the money going out every month for Carl. Wanting to get on with their life had set a fire under Rick. And now that he was home, he was ready to grind. Ever since he had a family, he'd been proud to be a provider. So, he was plotting all kinds of ways to make and stack money.

"I'll be glad when she can get back to work, too." Rick agreed. It was beyond lucky that Sasha and her husband had military backgrounds. Rick was in the process of expanding his business model and the Ford's would make a great addition to his crew. "Her and Abe said when she's ready they would moonlight some clubs with me. Daryl never wants to work past midnight and he's always cryin' about how loud the music is."

"She always did think she was Lara Croft." Michonne scoffed fondly at childhood memories. "I know that she's anxious to replace that baby on her hip with her .45."

"From what I heard this morning, she needs to wear the .45 around the house anyway." Rick joked, touching her along her collarbone, just because.

Sasha returned her text,

 _ **Bitch don't even try. You better call me right RIGHT now.**_

She showed the message to Rick and he shook his head.

"You see what I have to put up with?" Michonne giggled devilishly, keeping the phone angled to Rick's view so he could read her reply as she clicked away,

 ** _Tomorrow daaaaaaaamn! If you leave us alone. I'll have MORE to tell you when I see you._**

She added a few provocative emojis. Pretending to be put out by the whole conversation, she whispered to herself, "Thirsty ass."

"I get the little tongue, but what's the eggplant mean." Rick asked still looking at the text and trying to guess before she told him.

"It means DICK, Richard!" Michonne said as brashly as she could, trying to shame him for forcing her to text her sister in the first place. Rick was again unfazed by her attempts to rattle him. All his brainpower was trying to figure out how an eggplant could mean dick. They both waited to see if this reasoning would calm her fiery, fertile sister.

With Rick looking on, Sasha's reply came in. But before they could read it an unsaved number showed up on the screen with the option to answer or decline. Michonne nervously hit decline and went back to Sasha's text. Now angled away from Rick, she read what the foulmouthed mother of three sent,

 _ **Ok. But I want a full fucking report soldier!**_

Michonne disclosed the message without her normal amusement and the mood in the room stiffened. Distractedly, she moved out of Rick's lap, still staring at her phone. When it buzzed, ringing again, it startled her and she declined the call for a second time.

"Ev'rythang alright?" Rick asked her, trying not to give away how easily he read her. The answer to that question was written all over her face.

She looked at him and parted her lips to speak, then looked back at her phone. "Hold on." She begged a little patience and went to her voicemail. 16 new messages: one from Maggie, one from Deanna, two were work-related and the other 12 messages were from Mike. She had blocked his number but apparently, he'd been leaving her messages all night and this morning. Now he was calling from another number- presumably work.

Michonne so did not want to deal with this right now, but she knew she had to. Her heart dropped when she realized Rick could have answered one of Mike's calls when he had her phone earlier. She pressed her eyes closed and slowly rolled her head around her neck, feeling fatigued at the entire situation.

Rick was waiting quietly, rubbing the foot still resting on his thigh. Her other foot was tucked under her as she went through and deleted each message. He couldn't hear any of them but, by her demeanor, he could pretty much tell who the calls were from.

Normally, this would be when Michonne would swerve a conversation. She'd throw pussy at Rick and he, of course, would catch it. If she just did that, she could continue to enjoy having him back and forget all about who was calling and everything she did leading up to and after that night in the restaurant. She could forget how unbelievably messy she had been. All she wanted to do was ride her boyfriend's big eggplant dick, cum a few times, hear him say how much he loved her and fall asleep wrapped around him on the couch. She wished one phone call could get her out of this mess, just like one phone call had gotten her into it. _Fuck_! But she promised to be good.

Moment of truth.

Fidgeting with her phone, she stared at her lap. "I gotta tell you something." she started, after a deep breath.

"Yeah?" He tilted her chin up so they could make eye contact. Her gorgeous eyes said a lot: worry, regret, love, reluctance. Rick traced her jawline gently with his thumb and acknowledged as he gazed sweetly at her forlorn face, "Yeah. Looks like it."

She sat up straighter and her phone buzzed again. She hit decline, silenced it completely and threw it on the table in frustration. "I'm sorry. Okay?"

"Okay." Rick accepted her preemptive apology. "Go ahead and tell me."

She bit the bullet. "I've been talking to Mike."

Rick imperceptibly ground his teeth then huffed out a dry, disappointed chuckle. He kept massaging her foot and added rubbing her smooth dark leg, hoping to relax her obviously tense frame so she'd feel safe to talk.

The next part was stuck on her tongue like road tar but she spit it out. "I went out with him a few times too, like, the first week you left." When she didn't hear a reaction, she looked to Rick.

"Where'd y'all go?" He inquired casually, like he was talking about an outing with her nephews.

She confessed, repulsed by the recollection, "He took me to lunch a couple times and we went to the movies."

"Did you have a good time?"

"No." Michonne was becoming agitated by his poise.

She thought back to the night everything went down. If he'd blow up like that from seeing her at dinner with Mike in a group setting, he should be on the edge right now, knowing they were together alone and more than once. She could only imagine how bad it would be when he finally snapped at this new information. Maybe she could explain herself, lessen the fallout. _He promised he wouldn't leave._

"I did it to get back at you for walking out." She met his eyes, then retreated immediately at not being able to read him. She started to ramble like she had last night when she called him. If she was going to upset him, it was easier to pour it all out rather than a drip here, a trickle there. "At first I was really mad at you but then I was just really mad at me. When we went to the movies, Mike started rubbing my thigh and kissing my neck. It felt so... strange... wrong!" Her body tightened trying to make him understand. "I told him to stop and when he wouldn't I just got up and left. He followed me out to the lobby and kept telling me how much he missed me and loved me..."

That same anger from last night began to rise inside her. "I just wanted to hear _you_ say that!" Once she told that truth, her anger fizzled quickly. She continued in a more subdued tone, "I wished it was you, so bad, Rick." She looked at him again for a read. Nothing. Just his eyes, a solid ice blue, staring. "I tried to walk away but he grabbed me and I did the throat strike you taught me. I cussed him out in the theater lobby until security came over. They kept him there while one of the guards walked me to my car."

"What else?" Rick asked in a low baritone, still rubbing her gently. "You see him again after that?"

"Not on purpose, but he showed up at my job a couple times." She sighed, "I kept talking to him on the phone whenever he reached out, apologizing. I was just lonely and I wanted to hear the stuff he was saying. I was just using him to stroke my ego. Nobody ever cut me off like you did and I was hurt."

"So, he made you feel better?"

"No, Rick, no. He did not make feel better. There's no substitute for you. Before I called you last night, I called him... told him to lose my number and blocked him. But he's been leaving messages and now he's calling from another number."

"What else?"

"That's it."

Rick studied her intensely. She could feel him making determinations, measuring his response. This was one of the reasons she loved him so much. She wouldn't have thought his calm would excite her like it did. His calculating manner was like a blanket he wrapped her in, sometimes it got a little hot, but she felt so secure with him. The longer he took to speak, the more she realized how gutted he must've been that night in the restaurant to go off like he did. He was still thinking, still caressing her calf and the sole of her foot like she was his prized possession.

Finally, he spoke. "Okay. Answer it if he calls again. Tell him to come over here so y'all can talk."

"What?! Why?!" Michonne did not expect that. _Is he breaking his promise?_ _Is he going to leave? Just concede?_ She made her position clear, "I don't want to talk to him."

"I'm going to be here. Don't worry. Just tell him. He ain't gonna leave you alone unless he has a reason to. And he ain't gonna listen to you now. You proved that your words and actions don't match. So, I have to get involved... if you want me to... if you want him to leave you alone."

"Yeah, I do. But..."

"Don't say but." Rick threw his chin to the phone lighting up on the table. "That him?"

She looked at her phone and another call was coming in from the same number. She picked it up and followed Rick's instructions. While she spoke to her ex, Rick put in a call to Carol. It was rare that his assistant didn't know what he was up to, but this was one of those times. Still, the gray-haired dynamo, on her third cup of coffee, was sending all the pertinent info to Tara before Rick even hung up.

As he ended his call, Rick heard Michonne give Mike their address. She hung up. "He said he'll be here around noon."

"He don't know where you live?" Rick asked, confused.

Michonne twisted the ponytail of her locs nervously and explained, "I never let guys come here."

"But I thought you said you guys were together for a year?" Rick continued to question as things didn't add up.

"We were." She confirmed. "But I. Never. Let. Guys. Come. Here."

"Chonne, I came here and _spent the night_ after we dated for two months."

"I didn't trust him to know me like that. He was just... some guy I found."

" _I_ was just some guy you found." Rick compared.

"You were?" She squinted pretending to mull it over. "Must've been something else then." She shrugged, then timidly met his eyes, blue and cool like creek water. "Are you mad... about what I told you?" She knew he was, she just wanted to know the extent of the damage done to what they were already repairing.

Rick looked at her again for what felt uncomfortably long to Michonne. She was just about to apologize and explain again, when he pulled her back into his lap and brought his hands to rest on her backside.

"I'm proud of you for that throat strike." He said with an impressed smile that made her laugh. "Chonne, I know you." He modestly kissed her lips and continued. "You know what I did for three weeks while I was gone?"

She shook her head no as Rick relaxed deeper into the couch, adjusting her closer to him, positioning her sex perfectly over his own. He laid his head back on the couch with a deep resigned sigh, looking at her over the tip of his nose.

"I thought about you. I thought about you all day, on every job I had, in my meetin's... even when you finally called me- my eyes were on the game but I was thinkin' 'bout you." His voice rasped so exquisitely in the short space between them. He had her hanging on every word and a spotlight seemed to settle on those soft enigmatic lips, outlined by the gray of his facial hair. Unlike her, he never moved his lips without a purpose. She wanted to take in everything he said and lay it deep in her heart like a treasure.

"Thinkin' 'bout who you are and who you are to me and the fucked up shit you do and why you do the fucked up shit you do." He chuckled, but his face held a serious expression. "I thought about how growin' up in foster care must have affected you and how comin' from that to the woman you are today must make you feel about yourself, about me. I'd think about how you are with my son and with Roe. How you make messes out of the simplest thangs or turn the simplest thangs into art. I was thinkin' 'bout how creative you are, how beautiful you are. What it must be like to have this body..."

He slid his palms up onto her hips and tightened his hold, pulling her down firmly on his hardness. He pulled her hips forward and pushed them back until she leaned into his chest, heart to heart with him, and took over the pace he set. Rubbing her soft cheek against the scratch of his face, she brought her ear right to the source of his masculine country timbre and collapsed over him as he spoke,

"...this color skin, this hair, this wild spirit. I saw how angry you were with yourself that you had hurt me that night and how you tried to make it my fault. You thought it was my fault because you don't know yourself... not like I do. I know you, woman. And I know you weren't sittin' in the house cryin' over me all that time."

"I did. I was a mess." Michonne swore.

"Yeah, eventually, maybe. But first, you had to prove a lie to yourself. You were out tryin' to distract yourself, so you _wouldn't_ cry or care. I know. I'm surprised that you didn't sleep with this guy, but now that I think about it, that makes sense, too. You play your games..."

"Not anymore." She interjected breathlessly over his mouth.

"But you know deep in here..." He brought his hand to her belly, right above the swell of her thighs, his thumb dangerously close to her lower lips under the fabric of her soaked panties, "you belong to me."

She rose from his chest, rushing to unfasten her bra and slip the straps off her shoulders.

Rick had said enough and his mouth found a new occupation in the contact of her naked ebony nipples peaked in arousal. He grappled both her breasts squeezing them in his untamed hands.

Michonne quickly moved her hands to his, instinctively easing his grip on her breasts. She hissed at the pressure, "Easy." she whispered, smiling at his bearish behavior. He smiled back, but unable to ensure any civility, he let go to up the ante.

He pulled himself thick and ready from his elastic waist band and pulled her panties to the side. Rick brought her tight slick canal over him with the corner of his bottom lip clenched between his teeth. He filled her body with the warm width of his shaft. Michonne swooned and both of them broke over the forgotten music with a satisfied cry. Michonne moved with such ferocity that she was already seconds away from release. Sharp shallow breaths devolved into greedy moans as she leaned forward, latching onto his lips. Her clit found the right amount of friction against his pelvic bone. Her fists gripped the cotton of his t-shirt and she came like thunder, lightning and rain, all at once.

"Damn, 'Chonne. You gotta catch a flight or someth'n?" He chuckled underneath her and she blushed, burying her face in his shoulder joining him with an exhausted giggle.

"I'm just happy you're home." she declared for the umpteenth time since he'd walked through the door. "I gotta make up for lost time." she said struggling to catch her breath. "You owe me 32 more orgasms. I did the math.

"32?! We do not have sex that much in three weeks." Rick said in disbelief as he started to move her onto her back into the coziness of the couch cushions.

She smiled gloriously at him, feeling free now with every weight on her mind set aside. "You did accrue some late fees and penalties." she teased him.

"Late fees and penalties, huh?" he repeated with a similar carefree expression as he took his place on top of her still-heaving body. She nodded, more in response to the delicious weight of him securing her in place than to the question he posed. Rick could see he'd lost her already and he drank in the sight of her plunge into passion. Lifting himself up on his forearms, he began to move and watched her breasts react in rhythm with each thrust.

Her eyes traveled his face remembering all the times she'd made him laugh until tears came out of those coercing eyes. All the times they'd laid together exchanging whispers, talking about what the future could be and regretting the years they hadn't known each other.

Michonne pulled his face closer to overdose on his scent. She suckled at his bottom lip until his tongue chased hers for a dance. She felt his dominating drive shrinking her control. Wrapping her legs around his body, she lodged him deeper inside her. His body was solid like an oak and his buried length like a strong hidden root racing to find her moisture in the dark.

She slipped her hands under his shirt and rode the shifting of his back muscles with her palms. Her intricately designed nails left red welts across his back when she came again. Her quiet explosion and the mix of frenzy and serenity in her release sent Rick gushing his hot seed thick inside her until she dropped her limbs lazily off the side of the couch.

He laid a heavy kiss at her lips and when he pulled away, Michonne slid completely off the couch to the floor. For his patience and his loyal-love she simply uttered, "Thank you." as he walked away, dialing Carol to check Tara's progress.

He came back and pressed a kiss to her forehead, "I gotta do some thangs before this guy gets here. You alright?"

She rolled her head back to rest against the seat of the couch and regarded him adoringly, "Yeah. I'm good babe."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: So thanks gorgeous people for all the feedback. I'm so happy you guys are enjoying the story. I know a lot of y'all are eager to see Mike show up and get his feelings hurt. LOL And I promise it's coming. But first I have to give you guys some more background on Rick and Michonne's relationship. So, this chapter and the next one will explain some of their thoughts and feelings from the night they broke up. Then the chapters after these two will show you how our babies got together in the first place.**

 **-comewithnattah**

* * *

The Aftermath: Rick

"Hey." Rick delivered a haggard greeting when he heard Daryl pick up.

His tired friend returned a "hey". Sensing something must be wrong as it wasn't normal for Grimes to call him without immediately getting to the point, he asked, "It's late man, You okay?"

"Not really." Rick croaked through the hurt and went quiet contemplating what to do for a moment.

"So, you gonna tell me what's wrong or...?" Daryl wondered, feeling anxious about what could have happened.

"I'm movin' out of Michonne's place." Rick must've just decided that's what he would do as the words left his mouth because he felt a little stunned by them, but he continued, "I need your spare room 'til I figure some thangs out."

"Wait, what? Say that again!" Daryl sat up and came to life on the other end of the phone like he was a 911 operator preparing to talk somebody through a hostile situation.

"I'll be there in a couple hours." Rick sighed as he moved evasively through the crawling cars and drifting city lights. "I'mma get my stuff from her place and then I'll be there."

"What the hell, man? Her Drama Queen attitude rubbing off on you?" he questioned sarcastically, still not believing his ears. "You ain't about to leave that girl."

"I'm not about to play games with her, that's for damn sure. She's gotta grow up. I love her but she's gotta learn..."

"What the hell happened, man?" Daryl nearly begged for an answer. His head was spinning. He had been dozing off in front of the TV in his chair when Rick called. He looked at the clock on his phone to make sure he wasn't dreaming as Rick hesitated to answer.

"She uh..." the heartsick man paused, not really knowing how to say it. "She... I caught her with her ex tonight." His voice remained steady as he wiped away the falling tears making tracks over his cheeks.

"What?!" Daryl broke into Rick's ear, startling the huge mud-colored mutt lying at his feet. His dog, Trigger, rolled her eyes and dropped her head as her owner continued, "Like... in bed with him?"

"No!" Rick scrunched his face, feeling like that conclusion was quite a jump. "They were out at a restaurant, at Duncan's."

"Fuck!" Daryl reacted a little relieved but still rattled, "They was alone?"

"No." Rick answered as he turned a street corner and waited for club-hoping pedestrians to make their way across. He hated living downtown. "She was with Andrea and her assistant." he offered.

Yeah, what's his name? ...Heath, ain't it?" Daryl didn't wait for Rick to agree. "Well, what? You seen'um kissin' or somethin'?

"No!" Rick was getting irritated that 'I saw her with her ex' wasn't good enough for his friend. Breaking it down bit by bit was hurting his soul as he brought up in his mind everything he'd witnessed, said and done to answer his partner's questions. "Look, Daryl. It just didn't look right..." he made an effort to settle the issue. "Them being together... the _way_ they were together. Michonne knows better. Me and her talked about this."

"Oh, come on, man." Knowing Michonne well, Daryl judged this transgression as a minor offense. He laughed a little before he could stop himself. "Michonne is just a flirt. She flirts with everybody. But she ain't gonna _do_ nothing. That girl loves you to death."

"I know she does." Rick said as he pulled into the basement garage of their building. He found his assigned space and parked. Slouched in his seat, he sighed gruffly. Feeling defeated for a moment, he pulled his palm over his weary features. _Maybe she's more than I can handle,_ He thought. _Maybe I'm too old._

Seven years doesn't sound like such a big age difference, but Michonne wasn't only younger, she was wild and she had legitimate issues. She wasn't easy to deal with by any stretch of the imagination. She had told him a lot about how she grew up, being moved from one foster home to another. She'd get attached to a family and then have to reprogram herself to a new one. Just hearing the details of it made _him_ depressed. He didn't know how she managed to be so full of light despite it. She'd done therapy as a kid. Maybe it helped a little but she was still a fractured woman.

Michonne told him about being the only dark-skinned kid in a family once. The foster parents were nice enough but their daughters made fun of her when they weren't around. They called her shadow monkey and smacked her in the head with a heavy wooden brush because her hair was a lot kinkier than theirs. They wouldn't play with her or even talk to her unless they were saying something brutal.

She never had new things or parties or any real... connections. She was just alone. Living in people's houses but never experiencing family bonds.

One foster home she went to, kept her for a year and she loved it there. She was well fed and well groomed. She was the only kid and had her own room. It was just her and her foster mother, Miss Tina.

Miss Tina is the one who started Michonne's dread locs and introduced her to pretty things. But as soon as Michonne decided to let her guard down and get comfortable there, as if cued by the cruel universe, Miss Tina found a lump in her breast. She thought it would be best for everyone if they sent little Michonne to a new home. Michonne doesn't even know what happened to that lady. Did she live, did she die? Sometimes she'd wake him up in the middle of the night, crying in her sleep for Miss Tina and Rick's heart would break for her. What could he do to help her?

When he moved in, she told him so many sad, disturbing things about her past. He wanted to tell her to stop, that didn't want to hear anymore. He didn't want to hear about her pain. He just wanted to see her happy and believe she'd always been happy. But he was glad he'd listened to the outpouring of her heart in quiet moments, now.

 _You're not too old._ His age and experience, if anything, would make him patient enough to give her time. His prior disappointments would put this current relationship into perspective. He thought about his marriage to Lori. She seemed to be easy when they dated.

 _She wasn't_.

And she didn't have an ounce of Michonne's trials growing up.

His woman never had a chance to be a child. No one ever taught her the things his parents taught him. She had to learn for herself, by herself. Now she just wanted to have fun, the fun she should have been enjoying as a kid. She wanted to be popular and loved and beautiful. He wanted her to see she could have all of that and be happy with him.

That's what she wanted. Him. It wasn't arrogant of him acknowledge it. She told him all the time, in little ways like hiring Deanna to spend more time with him and big ways like sharing the comforts of her home with him. She wanted him, she just didn't know how to secure him. How could she, when everything else in her life had been so transient. Everything else in her life had been a fight. She only knew how to get through things in struggle-mode, even if it meant creating obstacles that weren't there.

But Rick knew when she was 15, they moved her to a man's house who only took in teenage kids from the system. That's where she met Sasha, Tyreese and Shane, at Morgan Jones' house. Four broken, discarded kids decided to be brothers and sisters and made a real family for themselves. It gave Rick hope. She'd done it before, become attached. She could do it again. He was going to help her. He just had to wait for this adult-sized temper tantrum to be over.

Daryl made an argument against Rick's disapproval of her actions. "Man, you're crazy. If I had a girl as fine as Michonne, I'd let her do whatever the hell she wanted."

Rick scoffed, "Like you did with Beth, right?"

"That's low." Daryl griped. "That's a low fuckin' blow."

Rick didn't relent, "Where's Beth at, again?" he asked, twisting the knife.

"She's gone." his perpetually morose friend confessed. "She's gone, you asshole." It had been three years now since Daryl's 22 year-old girlfriend went to Cancun for spring break, on his dime, and never came back to him. That was when Daryl became the president of the 'Woe is Me Club', and adopted all of old Trigger's ways- sitting in the house, snapping at his tail and yawning.

Having made his point, Rick continued, "You can't just let people do whatever they want. Not if you love them. Not if they're screwin' up."

Daryl accepted that, but he still didn't think Michonne and Rick should be apart. "Just call her and make up, man. Then you can sleep in your own bed in your fancy city condo and be outta my hair. Kill two birds with one call kinda deal."

"Nah." Rick was determined. "That's all she knows- somebody chasin' her. I ain't chasin' what's mine. I call her, she won't learn a lesson."

"Yeah. I'm sure her ex is gonna be teachin' her a lot in the meantime." Daryl warned, indelicately.

"Talk about a low blow." Rick chuckled through his apprehension at that very thought. "You might be right." He reckoned, "But Michonne ain't meant for him, she's meant for me."

"I couldn't take another dude eating off my plate." Daryl shook his head disagreeing with Rick a little more strongly.

"Me either." He tensed at the thought, then resigned to the fact that it was out of his control now. "But what's the sense in flippin' over the whole damn table just cuz somebody wanna steal a few crumbs."

Daryl was silent for a moment. "Shit." he cursed for no specified reason and gave up. "Ok. Dr. Phil, I'll see you when you get here."

Rick knew there wasn't any doubt his best friend would let him stay but he didn't take that kindness for granted. "Thanks, man." he said sincerely. As he went to end the call, he heard his phone shout,

"And bring some of that good whiskey you got!"

Rick climbed down out of his truck easily without Michonne's car in the tight spot next to him. A nervous heat rose inside him as he contemplated where she could be right now, what she could be doing and with who. Daryl's words hung thick like a fog around his head- _I'm sure her ex is gonna be teaching her a lot in the meantime._ He shook those thoughts out of the forefront of his mind but couldn't evict them completely.

He entered the cemented garage hallway and stood in front of the elevator. Pushing the button in silence. He missed Michonne in his arms. She would stand there in front of him, with her back leaned against his chest while they waited for the elevator car to arrive and he would close his arms around her. It wasn't anything they did consciously, but they always ended up touching each other no matter what the circumstances were.

With the ding of the elevator's arrival, he stepped inside and slouched his tired body against the wall. The adrenaline wearing off, he was starting to feel his muscles grouse from the altercation with Mike. He held his head down, limply, listening to the mechanical whirring of the big machine.

Standing in this spot and looking down at his feet, he remembered Michonne on her knees in this small space with him achingly hard and sucked into the back of her throat. He remembered how she had him hunched over, his massive palms flat against the sides of her face as he pulled himself back and she licked him forward again. His dick twitched at the memory of her swallowing the cloudy shot of his offering. He could still see her terra-cotta eyes light up excitedly as she heard him groan like a damned wildebeest through his release.

Rick turned the key and walked in to their home flipping on the light. He called her name out loud even though he knew she wasn't there. A faint echo repeated his voice like a mocking child and he stepped further into the dead silent space.

To his right sat the large dining room table they never used, except for when passion made it too hard to make it to the couch or their bedroom. Michonne was making plans to host her first Thanksgiving there this year. She said since he'd been there she felt more "domestic", a domestic diva, she called herself.. She'd even started taking cooking lessons with Paul Rovia the owner of 'Duncan's Restaurant'. She was paying him $120 an hour for her lessons- excessive. But Rick was proud of her for trying and, actually, a big fan of every dish she'd made so far. Growing up and even all through college her culinary repertoire included: ramen, toast and anything with microwave instructions. The man who loved her could see the pride and happiness she felt when she gave him a taste-test of anything she made with her own hands.

As he stalked inside and walked past the kitchen island, he watched as an apparition of Michonne beckoned him to taste her latest concoction with an outstretched spoon. That was the picture he'd come home to every Tuesday night. Paul would be perched on a stool in front of her, falling in love with her like every man did. Thankfully, Paul's boyfriend Duncan kept him from being any real competition for Rick. That long golden mane pulled back in a bun, those eyes of his and his ability to keep Michonne in stitches as they cooked was not overlooked by Mr. Grimes. He shrugged it off as ridiculous for the most part, but when it came to his baby, he kept his head on swivel just in case.

Rick entered the living room on his left, the big beautiful space she'd stylishly decorated. Straight ahead the view of the city that they'd admired most evenings together on the balcony. Him, with whisky in his favorite glass and her, with a big cup of chai tea and a little milk. She was quiet at these times, still playful but quiet, like a strong lioness relaxing on the open plain, un-bothered and un-beholden to anyone except her king. She would talk to him while the glitz from the city danced in her eyes. In those moments he loved life in the city.

To the far left of the living room was a tall faceless portrait of her mother (or what she'd like to imagine her mother as being, since she didn't really remember her). In the painting, the figure of a woman was decked out as a queen in every color. The acrylic paint laid thick on the canvas, giving her creation an almost 3-D effect. The rest of the room boasted an eggplant, cream and gold color palate. She would change everything in the room- from furnishings to accents- in a few months. She said it kept her creative juices flowing, but Rick thought that was about detachment, too. Only the painting of her "mother" would stay.

Finally, he made his way to the bedroom. He stopped in the doorway like he usually did when he got home late. He would watch her sketching with colored pencils scattered across the bed and a bowl of sugary cereal on her nightstand. She'd be laughing heartily at Fallon or Seth Meyers, depending on how late his night had been. Sometimes, she'd be knocked out in the middle of that same set up and Fallon would be watching her.

Rick smiled as he remembered it all, but he cried, too. He remembered all the times he'd dragged her to the edge of the bed in this room and tasted her sweetness on his tongue, holding her still like a carnivore possessively cuddles a meaty bone.

Finding his strength to walk inside the room, he went to the closet and started to pull his jeans and t-shirts from the shelves, the small space she had allotted him in their massive walk-in closet . Thankfully he didn't have a large wardrobe like her. Rick turned and smiled as he pictured the familiar scene of her bellyaching about not having clothes to wear as she stood in front of a closet stuffed beyond capacity, with more clothes of varying colors and fabrics than they kept in most boutiques.

If he was really going to leave, he couldn't keep reminiscing. But he stood paralyzed for a moment as he eyed his duffle bag, trying to will himself to pick it up and pack.

 _You don't get to tell me what to do just because I call you daddy,_ he heard her cutting words from earlier in the restaurant.

Things couldn't stay this way. So, he leaned over and picked up his bag, stuffing his belongings in with a mournful fury.

"She ain't meant for him, she's meant for me." he promised himself out loud, resolved that this was the right move.


	6. Chapter 6

The Aftermath: Michonne

"He called me a silly ass little girl, Blondie!" Michonne was getting angry again just thinking about it. "You expect me to follow behind him like some sad lost puppy after that?"

"He did not say _you_ were a silly ass little girl, Mimi. He said he couldn't build a life with one." Andrea corrected. "I think that was your cue to at least give him something to work with!"

Michonne quietly maintained her position that he should have chosen better words. Rick knew that certain things got her riled up. Referring to her as a child was one of them. She hadn't been a child in a very long time. She stopped being a child before she ever grew up. She'd earned her stripes long before she met Rick Grimes. Children were helpless. Children lacked autonomy. Children were ignorant of the ways of the world. She was none of those things. _Children are afraid..._

Michonne was afraid now but loathed to admit it. She could feel her dinner sit sour in her stomach. Her chest sank and then struggled to rise. But she wouldn't cry. She forbid a tear to fall. Not even for him. This was why love was dangerous. The foolish action was not alienating Rick tonight, it was allowing him to disarm her months ago. _That son of a bitch made me love him and then packed up and left. That's okay, though._ If there was one thing Michonne was good at, it was saying goodbye. She was a professional and she would act accordingly.

"So you think it's over?" Andrea asked her long-time friend over the phone. She wasn't really sure how to feel about the whole incident that had just gone down at Duncan's. When she finally noticed Rick approaching them, she immediately reexamined the past couple hours in her head. She quickly determined that if Rick had been a witness to the entire time Mike and Michonne were there, he probably wouldn't have liked what he saw.

"Looks like it. Most of his stuff is gone." Michonne answered through the phone despondently, trying to sound impervious to his resignation. She was sitting on the edge her bed, the moon casting the only light from her floor to ceiling windows. Facing their closet, she tried to spin the big gaps between hangers into a positive, " At least I have my closet space back. I can get my off-season clothes back out of storage."

Andrea, though, was worried about Rick and couldn't seem to hide it. "You think he went back to his house?"

"No, he cant. The tenants moved in this past weekend." Michonne remembered.

When Rick moved in with Michonne, he decided to rent out his house until he could do some renovating and sell it for a higher price. There was a strip mall being built a few miles down the road from him and he was patiently waiting for maximum profit. Currently, he was the landlord to a nice, young newly-wed couple. He even cut the rent $250 for the first six months of the lease when he found out the wife was expecting. It was things like that that made Rick impossible not to love. It made the abject anger inside her feel absolutely useless and that angered her even more as she tried to build a case for her behavior tonight.

"Oh. So, he's probably staying with Daryl, then." Andrea concluded. "That's good. He can't get in any trouble there." She stated with certainty, as if Daryl was the driest piece of toast on the table.

"I don't care where he's staying and he can get in all the trouble he wants!" Michonne made it known as she pushed her disappointment down and covered it with a shaky nonchalance.

But she wasn't fooling her friend. Andrea had seen her girl make a lot of respectable changes since Rick had been in her life. It had inspired Andrea to do the same- if only in baby steps. Tonight, when they ran into Mike, she could feel his bad influence take Rick Grimes' lady down a few notches. But, really, Michonne wasn't like Mike anymore. It was just the familiar excitement of scandalous deeds that tripped her up and now she was trying to disguise her panic as indifference. "Mimi, calm down. He'll be back."

"I am calm, Drea." she snapped. "Damn!" She cursed the whole situation and more pointedly, the heart-sinking fear that her twin-spirited friend could be wrong about his return. They sat in silence for a moment. Michonne was replaying Rick's callous words about her over and over in her mind, feeling the sting of them but also, peripherally, recognizing some truth.

 _"I'd do anythang for you, 'Chonne. But I won't chase you. Not like this._ " he'd said. _"You don't want me to. You wouldn't respect me if I did."_

Of course, she didn't and she wouldn't.

But that's the way her game was played. She'd force close a relationship like a malfunctioning app. Even when guys did chase her, she never took them back. She just played with them a little more until she found someone else to start a new game with. So talking marriage with Rick... and babies... _What was that about? You meant every word when you said it,_ she beat herself down to admit. That was against the rules of the game. She was in danger of losing for once. Michonne clenched her free hand to her scalp, gripping her hair in frustration, _What do you want? You want the game or you want Rick?_

She was grateful to be called away from that self-examination when Andrea broke the silence. "God, I can't believe how quickly that got out of control. I thought they were going to kill each other!"

"Thank God they didn't."

"Mimi, _what_ are you doing to these guys?" Andrea asked in a campy, suspicious tone.

Even though her friend was semi-joking, Michonne would accept no culpability for tonight. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing... just... damn, you broke up with Mike... what... I don't know, but it was months ago. Then he comes to dinner with us and like two hours later he's willing to kill or be killed for you."

"It wasn't that serious, Drea." she rolled her eyes, trying not see Andrea's assessment as a compliment. She felt awful that it did feel like a compliment, in a way. These two gorgeous men who could probably have any woman they approached were fighting over _her_. It was the kind of stuff she daydreamed about when she was a kid. If only she wasn't madly in love with one of the dueling rivals.

"It wasn't that serious? What restaurant were you in?" her friend questioned with a scoff. "It was _that_ serious. And poor Rick..."

Michonne cut her off with a balled-up face, "Don't make him out to be _poor Rick_. He embarrassed me tonight!" When the words left her mouth an inner voice retorted, _You embarrassed yourself._ "Oh my god." she lamented, shaking her head in her hand, "I can never go in there again after all that. How am I gonna get my peanut butter chocolate bombs now?"

Andrea sidestepped that insignificant consequence, "I'm just saying y'all been on each other like... well I gotta admit... I was jealous of you guys. Heath is the only man in my life right now," she spoke jokingly of her harmless assistant, "and with Maggie still in the honeymoon phase, I was starting to worry that I would be the only one of us still single."

Michonne threw herself back on the bed with a bounce. She laid there looking up at the ceiling. "Well, it looks like you can rest easy, now, Blondie."

Andrea did not like the sound of that at all. She protested mournfully, "Oh, don't say that, Mimi. I was jealous, but I was happy for you guys, too. Rick is great. I wish I'd found him first."

"Well, he's available." Michonne shrugged, just talking, without registering what she was saying. She was just trying to sound strong. She was just trying not to feel.

"Oh, whatever! Girl, don't even. I've known you too long. We broke hearts together in college." Her friend reminded her. "I know how you operate. You _love_ this man."

God help her, she did. She had never been taken care of the way Rick took care of her.

Case in point:

The end of that summer Rick invited her to come with him on a weekend security detail he was organizing out of state. She liked to see him at work. She liked to watch him be in total control of everything. It made her feel safe. It turned her on.

Unfortunately, at her job, she was in the middle of three different bookings that month: a wedding for a brand new customer that Maggie really wanted to impress, a music video for a local artist they had worked with before and a fundraiser gala for one of the city's top companies. Michonne had made most of the arrangements for all three events but she liked to be there in case anything went wrong. At first she told Rick there was no way she could make it. Disappointed, Rick called Maggie, who was much more level-headed, to see if anything could be worked out and Maggie all but packed Michonne's bags.

Luckily, it was the only weekend in the month that something major wasn't scheduled. Yes, they would all have to grind when she got back, but Maggie told her she could use a little get away to "get to know Rick better". She couldn't believe that Michonne had waited months to sleep with him like she suggested. Her agreeable green-eyed friend had a feeling about Rick and Michonne. And once Maggie talked to Rick, she realized it was the same feeling Rick had about Rick and Michonne. Mimi was just a little out of the loop as to where this was heading. So with her boyfriend and her good girlfriend conspiring, Michonne ended up on the three hour drive to the beach side resort to make love to Rick every chance she got. Michonne did have a ball with him and as he promised her, she spent most of time recuperating from his long stroke and sipping tea with honey to try and get her voice back.

Having only experienced sex with Rick a handful of times before their trip, Michonne felt him setting up shop on every surface of her body, planting flags and leaving behind memorials where no other man had sparked new life. No other man had explored the brave new world of her unconquered peaks and valleys with the grit it would take to render her shields futile. Yes, other men had tried but wandered aimlessly or lacked the equipment to complete the mission. Rick was coaxing every one of her senses with his limitless magnetism and crippling her with orgasms brought on by his all consuming mass, stirring g-force sensations through every ripple of her pulsating sex. The union of their bodies was like when planets collide. She was a star and he drilled to her core until she became a supernova igniting the void. She rode out the mind-numbing waves, dissolving into an earthbound version of the northern lights.

Throughout the weekend, she stayed in bed or on the beach with her sketchbook while he was working. She had endless inspiration- from the euphoric feeling he was giving her to the Eden-like surroundings that he knew would give her a second wind with all her demands at work. She didn't want to leave that Monday morning and even though they did, one thing was left behind.

She realized she didn't have her sketchbook when she got back home and couldn't find it. Michonne was grief-stricken as the book contained not only her new ideas but also additional concepts for her upcoming events. She called the resort and got the run around from the staff until she was ready to pull her hair out. She cried like a baby and finally wrote it down as a loss. And ordinarily, it would have been. But Rick Grimes' baby did not take losses, not if he could help it.

In the morning, Michonne went to work, still upset and stressed about the whole thing. By mid-morning, Rick was walking into her office with her lost sketchbook in his hand. It had a few grease spots and a little water damage, but Michonne felt like she had woken up from a bad dream as she sat at her desk looking through the pages and seeing that everything had been recovered.

"How?" she had asked with wide, watery eyes as he stood over her, in front of her desk.

"They found it." was his only reply. "So you good, now?"

"Yes... but how'd they find it? How they get it to you so fast?"

Rick leaned over for a kiss and shrugged, "I just told the staff it was important and they found it for you." He went to walk out the door like nothing extraordinary had happened, "Okay, I'll see you later darlin'. Have a good day. Okay?"

Michonne nodded at his back, stupefied. She still doesn't know the details of how he did it. But if she did, she would know that Rick drove six hours round trip that night. He found the housekeeping manager and "convinced" him to give Rick some assistance as he hunted through the garbage of that day. It took over an hour of dumpster diving, but Rick wasn't leaving until he made it happen for his girl.

Besides getting her book back, the look on his face when he handed it to her was something Michonne had not expected. With Michonne's ex, every little thing he did for her had to be applauded:

If he let her pick the movie- "Oh, you can't say thank you?"

If he got out to pump her gas- "Oh, you can't say thank you?"

If he let her steal a fry off his plate- "Oh, no thank you, huh?"

But with Rick, it was his absolute pleasure to make miracles for her. As soon as he saw she was happy, his work there was done. Given her fondness for superheroes, she felt like she was on the page of a comic, watching, slack-jawed, as he took flight and disappeared into the clouds.

 _You love this man._

Andrea was right, but looking at the closet, he obviously didn't love her like she thought he did or at least not anymore. She had to get in front of these feelings before she started shedding tears- tears she always promised herself no man was worth. And the first step in that process was shutting Andrea up. Hearing Andrea expose her heart was like nails on a chalkboard and in her tenacity she snapped back, "You loved my brother, it didn't stop you from doing you."

Skeptical of the comparison, Andrea challenged her. "Are you comparing _Shane_ to _Rick_? Cause that ain't gonna fly. I was rooting for you guys. If _you_ can't make it work with _Rick_ , who worships the ground you walk on, I'm really up shit's creek. Y'all had me believing in love."

Michonne chuckled disdainfully, "Oh and now you don't anymore because of me and Rick?"

"No, I still do. Maggie found it."

"Maggie is _Maggie_ though, Blondie." Michonne replied with a pessimistic surety. "Who wouldn't fall in love with Mrs. Sunshine and Rainbows? That's not us. If it wasn't for Maggie our business would be bankrupt, because we don't want to be bothered with anybody. You hide in your office with your invoices and numbers whenever you have to meet new clients..."

"I don't hide. I send Heath. That's what I hired him for." Andrea countered.

Michonne ignored her excuse, rolled her eyes and continued, "And my mouth always gets me in trouble. If it wasn't for Maggie rubbing elbows and schmoozing and planning events... 'YES M.A.M. Design' would be belly up."

"I know." Andrea laughed at the truth of it. "She's a special girl."

"And Glenn is a special guy. I mean, Rick hurts people for a living, Glenn makes video games. There's no comparison."

With those words Andrea knew what Michonne was trying to do. It was classic Mimi. She liked to defeat herself before anyone else could. She was trying to present herself as unlovable. She was trying to say that people like her and Rick couldn't make it even if they tried because they weren't cut out to end up like Maggie and Glenn. Andrea heard it and Andrea wasn't going to play along.

"Wait a minute, Mimi. 'Rick hurts people for a living'?" she struggled to understand. "Where is that coming from? You used to say Rick's job was helping people, protecting them. You were always proud of that."

"You know what I mean, Drea. He carries a gun, he's trained to inflict pain. I'm just saying he's not as nice as you think. You saw what he did to Mike."

"Mike went at him first. I'm pretty sure that's called self-defense." Andrea sarcastically disagreed with Michonne's half-baked evaluation. "Let me help you, Mimi. Unless Dixon/Grimes Security has changed fields to Dixon/Grimes Assaults, what you're saying right now is BS and you know it. Rick puts himself in real physical danger to _protect_ people from getting hurt."

Andrea stopped short of pointing out how he'd done just that with Mike and the whole situation at Duncan's that night. Rick threw his body on a grenade trying to save Michonne from herself, trying to keep her from ruining her own happiness. "And don't fucking say that we're not like Maggie. Bitch, I can be sweet as fuck." Andrea continued to chastise her friend, indignant. "And so can you... so _are_ you."

It sucked to hear it while she was trying to be mad at him, but Rick was the best man she'd ever dated. And not just because he was good to her. He was just good period. He was rough around the edges, but noble. He taught free self-defense classes to women. He would call his mother everyday even though he knew the conversation would be about how he'd given up too easily with his marriage and how his father stayed even though she knew he loved somebody else. He still went over to change the brakes and change the oil on his ex-wife's car. Normally, that would have been suspect to Michonne, she'd hadn't met this Lori yet, but Rick just had a way of making her feel confident in his love for her and confident in her place in his life... or he used to. Now her confidence was running thin.

But Andrea wasn't being honest as far as Michonne was concerned. Michonne knew she could be a bitch, even Andrea didn't have claws like her. The only person that could possibly match her treacherous side was Sasha. But after 7 months in Afghanistan, the tiny Staff Sergeant seemed to mellow out... a little. Her sister told her that the stimulus of firing an HK in 120 degree weather during the day and lying under a curtain of stars in the freezing desert at night was therapy like no other. Michonne decided she would pass on the wartime catharsis and just continue to burn bridges until she found a man that "got her". She had thought that man was Rick Grimes and now Rick Grimes was gone.

Michonne begrudgingly changed her tone in response to Andrea's soap-box stance, "I know. I'm just saying..." A beep in her ear interrupted the flimsy point she was trying to make, "Someone's on the other line, Drea. I'll call you back."

Andrea had little faith in that promise, "Yeah, right. I'll see you tomorrow. Bye."

It was an unsaved number and it looked familiar but she wasn't certain who it belonged to. With Rick M.I.A., he could be calling her from anywhere. She hoped he was.

He was so upset when he left the restaurant, he could have wrecked his truck. She started to worry for a second fearing she was about to be notified that something awful had happened. She had the strangest gut feeling that trouble was on the other line as she clicked over.

She was right.

"Hey, Mimi." A smooth, deep voice spoke to her.

"Who is this?" She thought she knew, but even after spending some time with Mike that evening, it had been many months since she'd talked to him on the phone. She deleted him from her contacts after her first official date with Rick and never looked back.

"It's Mike." he said, sounding somewhat surprised at her question. "I just wanted to check on you... make sure you're okay."

"Yeah, I'm fine." She confirmed, and asked sympathetically, "What about you?"

He gave a slight chuckle, "Well, I'll probably call out tomorrow. I can't go to work like this."

"I guess not."

"I wanted to say thanks for the ride to the E.R."

"Well, I couldn't just let you bleed all over the back of some guy's UBER. I'm glad they said nothing was broken."

"Not as glad as me."

They shared a light chuckle and Michonne calculated, "Well, you have the weekend to heal up. The swelling should go down by Monday."

"I hope." He went quiet for a second, then said on a sigh, "Look I'm sorry you got caught in the middle of that. But I'm kind of worried about you."

"Worried about me why?" She asked genuinely dumbstruck.

"Well, to be honest, Mimi, I think your boyfriend is dangerous."

"He's not." She laughed, quickly defending Rick and changing her story completely from what she was saying to Andrea. "You provoked him. I told you to leave it alone."

He ignored her and continued, "You have to be careful with guys like that. Especially white guys. You know if they didn't shoot up the school when they were young they're twice as likely to be serial killers."

They both laughed. Mike could be really funny when he wasn't being a jerk. That's one reason she stayed with him so long- he was entertaining. He was cool to be around and she really enjoyed his company.

Her giggles died out and she assured him, "He's not a serial killer. He's just... intense."

"Well, I don't like him being so "intense" with you."

"You don't have to worry about that Michael. We understand each other."

"Do you? It's seemed like he didn't understand that Mimi likes to go out and do her thing after work. Have a little fun... cut up."

"He doesn't care about that. He didn't like that you were there. That was his problem."

"Well, whatever. You're a grown woman. A real man could look at you once and know that." He spoke with an inflection that made her blush. But she didn't like how that made her feel. She squirmed and sat up on her bed again. It felt wrong to lie down on her bed, the bed she shared with Rick, and feel some type of way talking to Mike.

Suddenly feeling like Rick's glowing eyes were watching her from the doorway, she changed the subject. "Why do you still have my number?"

He laughed at her expert deflection, _This isn't gonna be easy,_ he thought. "Because you're my friend and I never stopped feeling like that. I mean, I still love you. My feelings for you were real. They don't go away just because you cut me off."

"You got yourself cut off. Let's not pretend you didn't see that coming." Michonne pursed her lips with attitude.

"Nah, but I think your man "Neo" gave you the scissors." He joked, referring to the Matrix-like moves Rick threw at him tonight. He remembered the first Matrix was one of Michonne's favorites and she immediately got the reference and laughed. "Where's he at, by the way? I know he can't be in there with you if you're talking to me."

Michonne's smile vanished. "No. He's not here." She said, offering no more information.

But Mike could tell by the sound of her voice that he hadn't just 'stepped out for a minute'. He left that alone. "Well, like I said, I'm sorry for all the commotion. I wonder if I could make it up to you with lunch Monday."

"I don't think that would be smart."

"Yeah, you might be right." he agreed, baiting her. "He's not there right now, but you want to be waiting there in case he comes back. I get it." He knew implying that she was sitting around waiting for a man would piss her all the way off and _she_ knew he said for that reason, too.

Still, that knowledge did not stop her from getting pissed off. Her pride answered for her, "You know Mimi is still like time, Mike." She began her familiar mantra and he finished it,

"I know: She waits for no man. So you gonna let me take you?" He attempted to sweeten the deal before she answered, "There's this place I went to last month and I couldn't stop thinking how much you would like it."

"What place?" she asked curiously.

"Its called 'Sharp's on Main', by the courthouse."

"By the courthouse?" She said along with him.

"I should've known your greedy butt already been there." He laughed.

"Not yet. Rick... is supposed... to take me..." she trailed off, as it dawned on her that maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he wouldn't take her anywhere ever again.

Mike jumped at the opening, "Well, if he takes you before Monday, good. If not, you can come with me."


	7. Chapter 7

**Guys, can I tell you something? Y'all have me so excited about this little accidental fic. I swear. These review are hilarious and I am high-key enjoying every minute of it. Now, as promised, I want to take you back to when they first met. Did Rick have any reason to believe Michonne would be so difficult or was he caught completely off guard? Why did she break up with Mike? What were her girlfriends' first impressions of her and Rick? I hope y'all enjoy the next few chapters. As always, keep me posted on your thoughts.**

 **-comewithnattah**

* * *

The first time Rick saw Michonne, she was heading outside her office building to try and smoke the first cigarette of her life. She told Maggie she needed a vice or she was going to become Shere Khan from the Jungle Book and eat her little annoying man cub. She was rapidly losing interest in him after a year of dating. She could see that he had a shelf-life and he was about a month past stale.

If Mike Solomon knew how to do one thing, he knew how to blow up a phone. She was happy to ignore his calls but when he sent a text threatening to come see her at work, she left her office, bummed a cigarette from the receptionist and went to intercept Mike's arrival with a reluctant phone call. There was also the possibility that she'd choke to death, which would have been preferable to the conversation she was about to have.

Rick was in the parking lot sitting in his company truck, on his laptop making notes about weaknesses in the building's security system after his walk through. It was a sunny spring day and the low humidity and breeze were inviting enough to make him forego the a/c in his truck and he put the windows down as he typed up his findings.

He was looking up at the seven story building, admiring the architecture and the three panels of windows that ran it's height. The east side of the building overlooked a small employee-only parking lot and grassy tree-lined park beyond that. The first and third column of windows belonged to the offices, while the middle column of windows brought light into the main stairwell.

Rick got out to take a few pictures of the building for reference, when he saw her bouncing down the stairs in a white, pleated ruffle, off the shoulder blouse and gold form-fitting knee-length skirt. Large gold hoops hung from her ears and her wrists clacked with the sound of her multi-colored bangles. The pointed toe of her navy stilettos kicked out grandly and confidently as she exited the building and the sun brought a shimmer to the rich darkness of her exposed chest and shoulders.

The hardworking man hadn't been on a date in about a year and he hadn't been in a relationship since his divorce four years ago. He had allowed himself to forget that men and women could have dealings beyond work or co-parenting.

Until he saw Michonne.

Just a glimpse of her was like flipping a light switch in a dark room and immediately finding the thing you'd been looking for. He was completely drawn to her and he recognized it at once. Rick watched her in awe for a moment, then sighed in disappointment when she awkwardly lit up the cigarette she was pinching between her graphically manicured fingers like a writing pen. He was a little disillusioned that she was a smoker, but not so much that he could stop staring and go back to his task. The fleshy parts of her were like fresh baked bread, hot and popping to rounded peaks. Her limbs were lean and strong and he couldn't help wonder how flexible she might be.

As she fought to get a handle on her experimental vice, Michonne saw a guy a few feet away taking pictures of her building. She and her friends rented an entire ample, but modest, floor of the building that served as their business headquarters. His presence seemed odd to her, but when she noticed Dixon/Grimes Security on the truck she relaxed, figuring the building's owner had decided to spring for a few security features. The thought suited her well as late work nights were somewhat unnerving. She paid no further attention to the man as she returned to the business at hand. Rolling her eyes, she called Mike and he unfortunately answered on the first ring.

"So you're hanging up on me now?" He asked testily, in reference to their earlier conversations.

"I told you I had to go." Michonne replied, her face twisted in confusion. "Like you had to go to your meeting last night... You're calling me at work." She said with sarcasm, "When I'm at work, I have _work_ to do."

Rick smiled at the chocolate stranger's no-nonsense tone. He was just about done out there so he piddled around, eavesdropping on one side of her conversation.

Mike grew indignant, "Why you bringing that up...that I went to that meeting?"

Equally indignant, Michonne bit back, "I'm bringing it up so you can understand how I can't do what you want me to do, just because you have the time now."

"I couldn't come, Mimi." Mike tried to restore some civility with a less hostile tone. "I was busy. It's not like I could reschedule the meeting."

"Yes, Mike. I am familiar with the concept of 'busy at work'." She refused to simmer down. "I've been doing my rendition of it all morning."

Rick slowly scrolled his GPS for his next location. He thought with a private chuckle, _She's givin' that poor guy the blues. He ain't got a chance._

"Come on, Mimi. That's bullshit. You're not too busy to talk. You just don't want to. You don't have a boss to answer to like I do."

"My clients are my bosses, that's kind of how business works." She was this close to calling him a jackass but she refrained. She was proud of herself for that bit of restraint. But it was the last freebie that he'd get.

She hadn't taken one pull off her cigarette and Rick started to wonder if she really did smoke at all. But he couldn't come up with a reason why someone would come outside, light a cigarette and spend their whole smoke-break fanning the fumes away from their face. He thought the scene was very cute though. He shook his head and chuckled a little more. Being who he was, he decided to get out and help her... and help himself to a little of her time if she was agreeable.

"I don't need a business lesson from someone who colors like pre-schooler all day. Thanks." Mike tossed out a sarcastic insult at Michonne's line of work. "I know how business works. I had to stay late to handle _business_ last night, so you just went anyway?"

 _Oh no, this motherfu-_ she thought. But she calmed herself and enunciated through her anger. "Exactly, hot shot."

"Mimi, you don't see nothing wrong with that?"

She found her tongue, "No I don't. I bought the damn tickets. Why would I not go?"

"Because we were supposed to go together."

"Yeah. We were _supposed_ to, but you were busy."

"So, what? I'm supposed to walk out of my meeting to go to a concert with you?"

"I never asked you to. You said you couldn't come. I said okay. What do you want from me, Mike?"

"I want you to act like I exist sometimes. Like I'm your man. What the fuck kind of relationship is this?"

"It's the kind where your girl gets you tickets to see an overrated rapper for your birthday. You're giving me a fucking headache!" She put all the blame on him though the smoke in her eyes definitely wasn't helping.

"Don't try that shit. You don't fucking care about me."

"Then why did I get you _anything_ for your birthday? I don't know what you want me to do. My life has to stop if you get held up? That's what you think?"

"NO. I'd think you wouldn't want to go without me. You don't even like Future like that."

"But Heath does. He's my friend." She replied to Mike as she saw the man from the security truck approaching her. She got a better look at his powerful frame. _Where the hell they make him at? s_ he wondered to herself, as his bowed-legs sauntered towards her. His dark blue jeans and black t-shirt were fitting him like they needed to come off. Those untrimmed curls looked like they wanted to be yanked between her legs and that smooth chin was just begging to be bit.

"You didn't look like you were out with a friend. Titties all busting out all over IG!" Mike was still ranting, but Michonne was in a white boy haze. "Hello?! Hello?!" He broke her from her daydream.

"Now we're back on that? Mike, what the fuck? You already know, I'm gonna wear what I want to wear." She said with no apologies and gave him the breakdown in her most condescending voice, "I bought that outfit for the concert. I went to the concert. I wore the outfit!" She decided to show off a little for the man making his way to her and throw Mike a little shade, "It's a lot less complicated than your credit score. I know a smart attorney like you can comprehend this."

Rick mouthed an 'ouch!' at the voracity of her last swipe as he approached. He never broke eye contact and she giggled a little at the stranger's reaction while still trying to concentrate on whatever Mike was saying.

"Fuck you laughing at? I swear to god, you make me want to choke you sometimes!" Mike hollered as Rick whispered a faint "Hi" and Michonne spoke back with an excited and warm smile.

Mike shouted, "The fuck are you talking to, Michonne?! Hello?! Mimi?"

Now, with a mesmerizing close up view of the handsome stranger in front of her, Michonne mentally turned the volume down on Mike's raving. She did not even attempt to stop herself from falling into the crystal clear pools of Rick's eyes and getting wet. And Rick did not even try to disguise the eye-fucking he was doing to her in middle of the day, right out in public.

He took the cigarette from her hand but never peeled his eyes of her radiant face. "These are bad for you." He informed her gently. "So, no more of these." He dropped the burning cigarette in the urn behind her, enticingly breaching her personal space. He whispered in her ear, "A woman as beautiful as you has to live forever." Then he raised his ruggedly handsome back face to hers, "What's your name?" he asked, furrowing his brow just a hint as though he were studying a highly superior life form.

"Michonne." she told him sweetly, her manner a complete 180 from the attitude she was giving Mike- who was still trying to get her attention on the other end of the phone.

Rick reached for her phone, now, as well, and she couldn't stop herself from handing it over. "Michonne, assholes are bad for you, too." She lilted a giggle at the way his accent took her name and made it his own word. With the odor of the cigarette gone, the perfumed scent coming off her skin and into the air around them, met his senses at the same time as her adorable laugh. He put the phone to his ear as Mike railed.

"So last night you was a hoe, now you're being a bitch, huh?" Rick heard Mike say. The polite country boy pulled the corner of his mouth into a frown and shook his head, disappointed.

 _You shouldn't talk to_ _ **my**_ _girl like that,_ he thought, but he addressed Mike while still staring Michonne down and scolded him, "You shouldn't talk to a woman like that."

"Who is this?" Mike was so confused and beyond enraged. "Put Michonne back on the phone!"

"Is this your boyfriend?" Rick asked the beauty with compelling brown sugar eyes. He was displaying another confused look on his face, like he couldn't understand what such a goddess was doing engaging mere mortals in the first place and this jerk-off in the second.

"Not after today." She rolled her eyes at the thought of Mike.

"Good." Rick blushed, "That's real good." He handed her cell, in a rose-gold case, back to her. He continued to talk and Michonne continued to listen, loving the sound of his cowboy twang. She didn't even bother holding up the phone to her ear anymore for her soon-to-be-ex's conversation.

Mike quieted so he could hear. He listened as a man's voice said "I teach self defense classes. You should reserve a spot in one if you're going to date losers like this." Rick handed her his card from his shirt pocket. "So you can kick his ass if you need to."

"Okay." she agreed with a chuckle, under some kind of spell. She finally tore her eyes away from his to read his name on the card. "Okay... Rick. I might."

"I also do bodyguard work." His eyes made the trip down her body again to her broad hips, "I could, uh... watch your back."

The sexually charged proposition fell from his kissable lips and Michonne felt her pussy clench like he'd sent his words roaming their way up her skirt and between her thighs to knock at her, now moist, entrance. She giggled to herself at the thought of what it would be like to answer that knock- _I'm coming_ \- she grinned at her little private joke as she focused back on his drop-dead gorgeous face. "Anything else you do besides kick ass and guard bodies, Rick?" she asked with an obvious overtone.

"Anythang you need, Miss Michonne." He announced as he leaned his shoulder against the building crossing his arms over his chest and dropping his hip at a swagging angle. "You, uh..." Rick dragged his gravelly voice out of his throat as his eyes sliced smoothly along the curves of her body like he was cutting the picture of her out of this scene to keep in his wallet, "you _need_ anythang?"

Michonne bit at her plump lip, studying the bulge of his biceps, his strong forearms, his kingly shoulders. She could think of a few things she needed, starting with those granite-forged arms crushing her against that wall while he auditioned with his tongue for a more southern role. But she answered, flipping her hair off her flushed skin and raised her thick arched brow, "I need a damn vice."

Rick laughed again, surprised at her request. "Nah, I don't think you do. Most vices end up killin' you. I told you," He kicked the urn slightly with the toe of his laced leather boots, "I need you to live forever."

"I just met you and you're already talking about forever." She smiled so aggressively, the dazzle of her whites emerging from her pillowed mahogany lips would have knocked him over had he not had the wall for a brace.

He looked at her through a slight squint of his eyes, like he'd just had an epiphany. "It's gonna take forever." He commented vaguely as he eased off the wall and started to walk away- as he was finding it more and more impossible for him to keep his distance.

"What's gonna take forever?"

He turned to look back at her and gave her a smile that overqualified as a vice. Leaving her question expectant in the widening distance between them, he nodded at the phone in her hand with a wink, "Don't forget about your call."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:**

 **This update is long, hopefully not too long.**

 **I had too much fun with y'all this weekend. I gotta go back to work tomorrow and with this update my chapter reserves are depleted. So I'm going to get to work on Mike's arrival at their place, and more of Michonne's progress as she tries to put on her big girl panties (and Rick continues to find a way inside them LOL). Give me a few days. :)**

 _ **And big thanks to Tigerwalk who suggested the perfect song for this chapter, "Attention" by Charlie Puth. I hope you like how I used it.**_

 **-comewithnattah**

* * *

"What's up Blondie! Are you riding with me or am I riding with you? Is Maggie coming?"

Michonne had to shout over the music blasting from every speaker in her place as she pulled the flexi-rods out of her hair. Avril Lavigne's 'Hello Kitty' had her wiggling in her seat as she examined the bounce of her perfect curls. The soft yellow bulbs about the mirror's frame made the highlights on her cheekbones glow as she turned her head this way and that to check out her make up job. Her phone was lying next to her, face up, atop her ivory vanity. The speaker was turned up and so was Michonne's mood.

"Well, that depends. Where are we going?" Andrea had an inkling but she wasn't completely sure that her best friend could be so petty.

Michonne started to apply gold to her eyelid, but paused abruptly at Andrea's question to look at her phone with a quirked and impeccably groomed brow. "Where do you think? The party."

"Mike's birthday party?"

"Mike _and Terry's_ birthday party." Michonne corrected.

Andrea sighed, huffing out a giggle and thought, _Yep. She is that petty, God!_ She gave a half-hearted attempt to talk some sense into her unseemly friend, "Mimi, do not go to that man's party."

Giving a more forceful huff in response, Michonne held her ground, "It's not just his party. It's Terry's party too. I broke up with Mike but me and Terry are still cool."

"Whatever. That's not why you're going."

"Yes, it is." She protested looking at herself in the mirror with a sly smile." Anyway, technically it's my party, too. I'm the one who gave them the idea for the All White theme."

"Uh huh, but that's _not_ why you're going." Andrea rolled her eyes.

"And you know they booked my DJ, Blondie. If I'm not there he'll be disappointed. You know he's gonna play a 'Mimi's Mix' for me."

"Yeah, Jerry would be disappointed if he doesn't get to see you gyrate like a stripper." Andrea agreed in an unconvincing monotone. "But that's _not_ why you're going."

Michonne stopped with her explanations, "Then why am I going, since you know so much?"

"You're going so you can give Mike a heart attack with that dress you bought... If you can call it a dress." Michonne ripped through the line with wicked laughter. Reluctantly, Andrea laughed, too. "Mimi you are absolutely the messiest woman I know."

" _I'm_ the messiest?" Michonne exaggerated her offense. She shouted toward the phone with a cackle, "Know _thyself_ , hoe!"

"Nope. I'm getting myself together." Andrea vowed. You can be Messy Betsy by yourself." Her tone turned slightly more serious, "What is the point of this? Are you trying to get back with him or..."

Michonne didn't let her get far with her speculations. "No! I'm trying to kill him like you said! This is about..." she dropped her voice to a dark villainous intonation, "...pure revenge." She perked again, "I already got a new boo lined up."

"Oh yeah, your cowboy." Andrea laughed as if she thought Michonne had made the whole thing up. Michonne liked to joke and play about stupid stuff like that, like the weird little guy in the bakery around the corner that she referred to as Andrea's baby daddy. But Andrea decided nobody could be as sexy as the guy she described to her and Maggie, especially not some hillbilly.

"Yaaaassss, Blondie!" Michonne gave holy testimony, "Rick Grimes!"

"Yeah, yeah. Even his name sounds made up." her skeptical friend crossed her arms with her phone wedged under her ear. "So, when are we supposed to do this self-defense class?"

"Wednesday after work. You'll see." Michonne assured her. "So back to this party... Blondie, don't tell me you're not getting ready."

"Of course, I'm getting ready." Andrea laughed as if Michonne should have known. "Mai Linh is applying my top coat as we speak." She winked at the tiny Vietnamese lady brushing the polish on her toenails.

Michonne grabbed her new coils to the top of her head trying to decide how to style them. "So, my car, your car? ...and what about our Little Care Bear?"

"Maggie'll met us there with Glenn. We can take your car..." Andrea picked up the magazine in her lap, opening it to conceal her face and unsuccessfully hush her next words as she whispered, "'cuz I'm tryin' to ride some dick home tonight!" Mai Linh ducked her head to hide her giggle and Michonne whooped over her naughty friend's mischievous laughter. "Aries Season!"

* * *

Michonne stepped out of 'Black Panther', the name she had given her 2007 corvette for obvious reasons. Michonne was not a car enthusiast by any means. All she knew about cars was that she loved this one. She always wanted a corvette since she was a little girl. One of her social workers had one and it was the first big thing she saved up for and bought after college. Her car was always polished, the leather interior was always immaculate and the chrome was always shining. She took great care of her car, kept it cleaned and maintained- all because she loved its aesthetic look.

When something turned her on visually, it usually ended up in her possession. Visually was about as deep as she went in terms of attachment. That's where her emotions started and stopped for the most part. It made her good at her job, but not so great in relationships.

But for tonight, Michonne was thinking, _Fuck relationships,_ even as her mind would drift momentarily to speculate where her tall, dark and handsome cowboy could be. She wondered to herself, _What would it be like to wear his ass out in a barn some damn where_.

She and her bestie were at this party to reduce the huge rented mansion to rubble. She handed her keys off to the valet and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored reflection of her tinted window and, pitied the fool they called Mike. He was going to combust at the first sight of her and she giggled to herself at the thought of dancing on his ashes tonight.

Her candy apple red dress was borderline lingerie. A bustier bodice with spaghetti straps showed off her impossible waist while black mesh inlays traveled, just so, over her hip bones down to the hem which stopped right above her knees.

Michonne always thought a longer hem on tight dress sets a fat ass like hers on display better than a mini. Even though her breasts sat high in the cups of her dress and the bold red against her dark skin evoked the imagine of a sexy she-devil, the knee length of the dress gave a hint of church decorum that earned a kind of reverence from guys on the prowl and confused salty females who came armed with dirty looks.

With her locs dyed a solid black, the brown of her skin turned creamy and her locs set in a spiraled up-do made her look innocently coquettish. She was going to be anything but innocent tonight. The plump curve of her calf was lifted by black pointy four-inch stiletto pumps and she had a mean walk in those heels.

Andrea ignored the dress code as well, wearing a black sweetheart sheath dress: mini, sequined and strapless. The vertical placement of each little embellishment gave the dress a sophisticated metallic look. Her black sandal heels with skinny straps clacked up the long, paved walkway beside Michonne while her blonde hair framed her face with a wavy shoulder length bob.

"They got security for the party?" Andrea asked as she took in a small line at the door.

Michonne thought it was a little uncivilized, but smart. "Guess so. You know Mike's friends from the hood will show up with guns and knives and TNT..." she joked.

They walked up to the door and felt the bass bang against their ribcages the closer they got to the inside. A middle-aged man in a black shirt with SECURITY emblazoned across his chest in white lettering waved a metal detector wand over them and had them open their little clutch bags. "You ladies ain't get a proper invite? This here's a white party. Ain't 'posed to let nobody in 'nless they got on white."

"It's ok." Michonne spoke up. "Call one of the birthday boys and tell them Mimi and Drea are here."

"What's your name, handsome." Andrea asked the man obstructing their way inside.

"I'm Merle." he answered with a predatory smile, looking her up and down.

"Well, Merle, you tell them Mimi and Drea are here and we're being bad already." Andrea instructed him, blatantly flirting with the older man and causing Michonne to give her a comical side-eye.

He spoke into the walkie clipped at his shoulder. "Front of the house has a Mimi and Drea. They forgot the white, but they brought extra purdy."

While they waited for security inside to locate Mike or Terry, Merle- who had never taken his eyes off Andrea- asked, "So which one are you, darlin'? Mimi or Drea?"

The blonde threw an arm around her pretty brown friend. "I'm Drea and this is my _best_ friend Mimi." She answered him, leaning her temple against Michonne's with a suggestive wink.

To Merle, they looked like the opening act of the awful pornos he watched like soap operas. But before he could respond, static from his walkie interrupted and a voice announced, "They're good to go."

Merle stood aside as Andrea and Michonne walked pass him, paying him no further attention. "Y'all ladies come back and see me when the party dies down." Other party-goers waited to get in while he followed the pair with his eyes into the large two-story foyer and whispered to himself with a stunned look, "Jesus... and all his cousins."

She immediately lost Andrea to a handsome tatted-up Cuban guy the blonde had been teasing for a while. Michonne tried to remember his name and gave up quickly. _This might be your lucky night, what's-your-name,_ she thought as she looked at the man spin her friend for a 360 view. Drea had told Michonne she was getting tired of her toys lately and a wild boy like this guy would be just what the doctor ordered.

The party seemed to be in full swing and the area that was most likely the living room in a normal setting seemed to have been designated as the dance floor. Above everyone, on the second-floor catwalk, the big Samoan had set up his turntables, laptop and lights. Jerry always took his craft to the next level and had the whole place in motion.

Michonne met Jerry under his stage-name, DJ Kingsman, at another house party years ago and dubbed him _her_ DJ, after they talked awhile about music and other randoms. She liked him because he never got out of pocket with any advances on her and he liked her because she was wild and always got the party started. Eventually he started making what he called 'Mimi's Mixes' for her (song that reminded him of the stormy siren) and she would dance through the whole thing. She was on her way to go up and say hi to Jerry when Mike appeared in front of her.

He had been notified by security that Michonne was there and he came from his circle of friends to meet her as she walked in. She took him in and was immediately impressed with the man who stood in front of her. She forgot all about Jerry. That crisp white outfit laid on his beautiful stygian skin like vanilla ice cream on a warm fudge brownie. This was why she suggested the white party in the first place, to see Mike looking fine as a whole cellar of wine. He wasn't her man anymore, but she could appreciate beauty when she saw it, even though she had no taste for him anymore.

Mike was darker than Michonne and his muscular frame made its presence known through the sleeves of his fitted white blazer. The soft fabric of the tunic underneath was unbuttoned at just the right point on his chest where his wife beater clung to his firm pectorals. He honestly was a sight. She blinked her way out of those thoughts, remembering _he_ was supposed be the one in need of a defibrillator as he finally came to stop in front of her shaking his head.

"Look at you." He said pretending to be displeased, but his eyes were like two tattletales moving all over her body. "Can you ever cooperate with anything?" He fussed. "Why the hell you suggest a white party if..."

"So, I could wear red, stupid." She cut him off. "Stop fussing." She turned to give him the perfect view of her backside. She looked over her shoulder. "You don't like my dress?"

Just then Terry came over to them and immediately gave Michonne a hug and a kiss. "Damn, boy!" He turned to Mike, "You better make up with this girl."

As Mike contemplated that very thought, a pretty young thing came up behind Mike and placed her hand on his shoulder possessively. "Hey, Babe. I couldn't find you." The light-skinned beauty with long, straightened chestnut hair, looked Michonne right in the eye and asked, "Who's this?"

"Hey Gabby." Mike turned to acknowledge the girl. "This is Mimi. Mimi this is Gabriella." He made introductions.

Michonne gave the girl a gracious smile. "Hey, Miss Thing. I am scared of you! Loving that dress. You came to wear them out didn't you?" She complimented Mike's new... whoever.

Michonne did a lot of messed up stuff. But she mostly reserved her wrath for the men who wronged her. She always believed, since her days in foster care, that girls should be allies first, until proven otherwise. They always got the short end of the stick and normally, not because of other women. The world made sure it was damn near impossible for a woman to get a stick at all, short or otherwise. So, she made a point to always be kind to womanhood and it usually made friends for her despite another girl's initial jealousy.

Gabriella looked at Mike, then Terry and then back to Michonne suspiciously. Then she dared a small smile. "Thanks."

"You want a drink Mimi?" Terry asked her.

"You know Mimi doesn't drink, Terry." Andrea came into the conversation with the tall tanned man hot on her heels. No introductions were needed since Mike and Terry knew the man. They exchanged loud smacks of their palms and shoulder hugs as Michonne waited for one of them to say his name but no one ever did.

Over the beat, she heard DJ Kingsman announce her presence to the room. "My girl, Mimi is in the building! Can't obey a rule to save her life." He commented on her red outfit in a sea of white. "I gotta play her Mix when she steps in. Who's rocking with her?" He asked the crowd as the bass slowed and the tempo picked up. "I know her girl Drea got her. That's her ride or die, right there!" Kingsman gave them both a shout out.

Lights swept the crowd as the rapid beat of Bell Biv DeVoe's 'Poison' was laced into the song that had been playing as they walked in. It was the song that Kingsman traditionally started a Mimi's Mix with and as soon as she heard it, she left the unfruitful exchange with Mike, Terry and Gabriella to follow Andrea who was pulling Michonne to the middle of the licentiously cavorting crowd.

Never trust a big butt and a smile.

Expertly, the new song flowed, never breaking tempo. Michonne threw her hands up as Andrea grabbed her by the hips and bounced in a two-step. The big Cuban came over after a few minutes and reclaimed Michonne's dance partner and another girl the lady in red knew, took her place, joining her in resurrecting some old school dance moves. One move after another, they challenged each other, laughing, as they upped the level of dated choreography. The entire party ecstatically screamed the lyrics together when the DJ dropped the beat. They all pointed to one another in camaraderie at the nostalgic anthem,

It's driving me out of my mind  
That's why it's hard for me to find  
Can't get it outta my head  
Miss her, kiss her, love her, (wrong move and you're dead)

That girl is poison

The same rapid-fire drums of Poison dissolved into the similar clapping of Rihanna's 'Bitch Better Have My Money" and the press of people hooted their approval. Kingsman played a few lines of the song back to back, rousing it on a hypnotic stutter,

Y'all should know me well enough  
Bitch better have my money  
Please don't call me on my bluff

Bitch better have my money

Michonne laughed at the song choice and fell into a rut against another reveler, spurred on by the debased subject of the song.

The eyes trained on her were many, including the DJ, Mike and a pair of blues hired by the homeowner to survey the entire crowd and protect the place from damages.

Michonne's dress had the desired effect as Rick looked from his vantage on the other side of the catwalk above the party and saw her in red, in motion and sandwiched in between two girls in all white. He immediately recognized her from their meeting outside her job. That face and that body had infiltrated his aimless thoughts ever since. He thought about going back there to find her again, but fate saluted him as she materialized in the pulsating mass of white.

His concentration belonged to her for a moment. She controlled every cell in his body so that he was glued to that spot, unable to do anything except drink her in. He had never seen a woman so regal-looking be so raucous as well. She looked like a crown belonged on her head but she laughed like a commoner with her head thrown back and her mouth wide. One second she moved like a dancer at the finest gentlemen's club and the next she was challenging someone on the dance floor to a goofy robot battle. She looked like she was boisterous with life and, like he already knew, he wanted to watch her live forever. It took all his will power rip his eyes of her frame and get back to work.

Mike on the other hand had no work to attend to, other than slipping Gabriella's notice. That easily done, he found his way through the well-wishers and arrived at Michonne's back. He took the liberty of coming close enough to her that she knew instantly from the feel of his body on hers that Mike Solomon was in full on fiend-mode and she laughed to herself when he planted his face just under her ear and she heard him forcefully inhale her scent.

"Fuck you think you doing, Mimi?" He said through lust and a measure of anger.

She ignored his question. "Your girlfriend might not like you being all up on me like this." she spoke loudly over the music and still he had to strain to hear her.

Rihanna fell off the jump of the speakers as the same underlying rhythm ushered in 'Attention' by Charlie Puth. The altered voice of the crooner was sped up to higher resonance as DJ Kingsman cycled two words from the song into a fevered pitch

runnin' round, runnin' round, runnin' round

runnin' round, runnin' round, runnin' round

Then the meter dropped drastically as the singer called in soprano

I know that dress is karma, perfume regret  
You got me thinking 'bout when you were mine, oh  
And now I'm all up on ya, what you expect?  
But you're not coming home with me tonight

From her place on the dance floor, Andrea giggled at the appropriateness of the song. Given her unrestrained friend's penchant for sensationally inappropriate performances and her mission to make Mike fall all over himself tonight, she figured DJ Kingsman easily read her plan. She looked over her shoulder and guffawed as she caught a glimpse of the lyrics being acted out to perfection: Michonne wearing Mike like a backpack on the first day of school.

You just want attention, you don't want my heart  
Maybe you just hate the thought of me with someone new  
Yeah, you just want attention, I knew from the start  
You're just making sure I'm never gettin' over you

Mike brought his forearm across her neck and she rested the back of her head on his shoulder as he addressed the shape of her with his groin. Michonne felt his arousal through his pristine white jeans that, she could tell, he was sure to ruin judging from his breathing. "You think you're real funny, don't you?" Mike spit the words, feeling foolish but unable to let her go.

"No Mike, I think _you_ ' _re_ real funny." She giggled into the colored hazy lights spinning over his guests. Michonne turned to face him and came close enough for a kiss, but pulled away after she looked him coldly in the eye and said. "Happy Birthday."

"Mimi! Mimi!" He called after her shamelessly. But her tiny physique disappeared in the crush of the crowd.

Her mission accomplished regarding Mike, she finally made her way up the curved staircase to Jerry. "There's my DJ!" She called out, dancing her way over to him and making the titan of a man blush.

His fingers were still deftly maneuvering the equipment in front of him as he leaned sideways into a hug from his little fan-turned-friend. She was completely unaware that a few feet from her, Rick stood sentry. When he spied her so close to him, he just observed her for a minute as she conversed with the DJ briefly. They laughed innocently with each other and a smile slipped from Rick's stoic working persona as he watched Michonne stand on her tiptoes to shout her conversation up at the towering DJ over the scream of the speakers.

Michonne turned around laughing, swiping one of the bottled waters from Kingsman's table of machinery. As soon as she turned around, cerulean orbs floated from the shadowed space near the closed off bedrooms of the massive house. She stopped in her tracks and smiled bright enough change the hour of the late-night bash. She was more than shocked to see him there and she felt a little confused by his presence. "What are you doing here?" she shouted, bending her body forward slightly to help her voice carry.

Rick widened his eyes playfully and pointed to the words on his black t-shirt that read the same as Merle's. She blushed at the obvious answer and the coincidence of their meeting again. The good fortune that he could see her in this dress made her thank God quietly and her heart sped up a little when she saw him lick his pretty pink lips at the sight of her.

He waved her over to him wordlessly and she stepped slowly into his orbit, getting a whiff of that scent she would eventually come to crave. Rick leaned over and spoke into her ear. He purposely let his lips graze her lobe and Michonne's knees literally buckled. "It's loud out here. You wanna come with me?"

She nodded and followed him into the first room off the east wing of the upstairs hall. As soon as they closed the door behind them, the speakers were barricaded out. Rick had apparently set up the office with multiple tabs live-feeding footage from different areas in the house and the surrounding grounds. On the corner of the desk, sitting deep in the room, sat a large monitor showing hi-def surveillance. He angled the monitor towards their shared view.

This was where he was keeping an eye on the party. In some of the frames, she could see men who were there with him to do the same job, posted in their black shirts, talking into their shoulders every now and again. She could see the gravel lot where most of the cars had been parked by the hired valets. She could see hallways that seemed to lead to areas that were off-limits to the guests. Shots of the pool and the pool house were at the ready. With his crew in constant communication, the network of chatter all made its way to the radio on the desk. Rick had eyes and ears to the goings-on of the whole place. Michonne didn't know why, but that turned her on like she wouldn't have expected.

"Have a seat." he kept his eyes on her and gestured to pair of chairs sitting in front of the desk. The way he was looking at her made her nervous, not afraid, just unsure what to do with herself. She followed his instructions and sank slowly into the seat, placing her hands folded in her lap with her bottled water and her tiny gold purse. She kept her eyes on the monitor for fear she would melt if she looked directly at his perfect face.

Rick just kept his unrelenting eyes on her, he could see her blood pumping wildly through the pulse in her neck. He grinned at the contradiction of her innocent expression in that dangerous dress but kindly gave her a few seconds of reprieve, turning his attention to the monitor as well. "So, you're Mimi?" he finally asked. "Where's Drea? Heard y'all were being bad already."

Michonne blushed under her dark complexion. "Drea was." she giggled, "Not me. I don't want no problems with security." She held up her hands in surrender as he sat on the edge of the desk in front of her. His long, bowed legs spread apart as he propped one foot up on the seat of the unoccupied chair beside her, effectively confining her to that part of the room. She couldn't help but steal a quick glance at the slight bulge resting low on his thigh under his dark denim.

"I didn't see you when you came in. I was on the floor." he said. "I asked Mike if you could come in without your white on... he seemed pretty excited to see what you did have on. I guess you didn't disappoint." He said looking at the rolling dunes of her breasts.

"I never do." Michonne gave a naughty look still peering at the scenes displayed on the monitor.

Rick enjoyed her suggestive words, coming from such a seductive mouth... when her eyes were too shy to meet his. He thought her inconsistencies were adorable- like being a smoker who never smoked. When he met her a few days ago she easily gave as good as she got in terms of unabashed flirting. He wasn't sure where that girl was today or what the difference could be. As Rick got to know her better, though, he'd realize that she was much more confident in a fight than she was out of one. And giving Mike the third degree the day they met had brought out a much more aggressive alter ego.

"You alright?" he asked her, tilting his head to the side to catch any tells.

"Yeah." she nodded, "Yeah. I'm great. Just shocked to see you here. Didn't expect to see you 'til Wednesday." she met his eyes now.

"Wednesday?"

"Me and my friends registered online for your self-defense class." her cherry wood-colored eyes smiled at him, eager to see his reaction to her actually putting his card to use.

Rick was indeed pleased. "That's good." he nodded, crooking his lips at the news. "You need it if you're gonna come out looking like that. Dresses like that can make a man cry or make a man crazy. Did Mike survive you?"

Michonne made it a point to stress Mike's current relationship to her, "My ex? What makes you think this dress has anything to do with him?" she dropped her jaw, embarrassed by his quick read of the situation.

He crossed his arms, leaned back and scoffed at her attempt at naivete. "It's my job to know stuff." He said provoking a fake smile mixed with a genuine one at his smugness. "When I met you, you're tellin' off some guy named Mike, then tonight, when I told a guy named Mike that a 'Mimi' was here…" Rick made air quotes around her nick name- a nick name he'd already decided not to use since it was what her ex called her, "the look on his face said it all... until I saw you in this dress. This dress... it made him cry, didn't it?" Rick laughed again, shaking his head. "You _are_ bad, making that guy cry on his birthday."

"I didn't see any tears." Michonne giggled with him. "I was too busy dancing."

"Yeah. I saw that too." He smirked. He saw that and he was pretty sure it had broken some part of his brain or maybe rebooted a part of him that had been dormant a long time.

The radio on the desk came alive, "What'dya'll say I find that Drea and cut outta this thang early." Michonne laughed at Merle's lasting preoccupation with Andrea. "That girl looks like she can ride a stallion."

"Shut up, Merle." Daryl's voice came across the channel. "They don't make a'nuff of them blue pills to turn you into a stallion, boy... you won't never be more than a jack-ass."

"Fuck you, little brother." Merle was returning as Rick turned the volume on the radio down.

They both laughed at the bickering. "So... it's been what, three days since I saw you. Did you find a vice yet?" Rick asked.

"No." she confessed, daring to look into the gems he passed off as eyes. She draped her arms across the arms of the chair and crossed her legs at the knees. "Now, you got me wanting to live forever." She referenced his comment that'd been following her around since that day, crawling up her spine and breaking her skin into a sweat. "You never told me exactly what would take forever, though."

"I can show you better than I can tell you. Patience." Rick raised his brow but his eyes were cemented on her face, the apple of her cheeks and the fullness of her lips that were stretched into a captivating smile. His voice turned seductively paternal, "You can be patient, can't you Michonne?"

Michonne giggled. Knowing herself to be the archetype of impatience, she chose her words carefully, "I... can try."

Reading her hesitance to agree correctly, Rick grinned, smitten with the woman in front of him and doubting his own willpower in the face of such humbling beauty. Even now he was wrestling with the urge to scoop her up and use this desktop for the kind of work he wouldn't mind slaving for. To cool his blood, he took a break from her hold on him and looked back at the monitors and something there caught his eye. He stood up and went to take a seat in the leather office chair behind the desk.

Turning the monitor slightly from her line of sight, a concerned look overtook his face as he moved his walkie closer to his lips and parted them to speak. Michonne mirrored his unease though she couldn't see what he did.

"Looks like you see some trouble brewing. These hoodlums getting out of hand?" she guessed.

Rick chuckled coolly, "Something like that."

Michonne noticed his expression change, his coloring too. He bounced his eyes from the screen to her wondering face and slightly gestured with his head for her to join him on his side of the desk. She did, leaving her clutch and bottle on the desk, unable to hide her curiosity.

As soon as she rounded the first corner of the desk he reached for her at her waist. The first contact from his big heavy hands immediately threw her off balance and sped her heart-rate to punch-drunk proportions. Thankfully he was easing her onto his knee, but she fell into his lap rather ungracefully, one arm around his shoulders and her other hand holding on to the desk.

She took up residence in his eyes for what seemed like the forever he'd alluded to. He was smiling at her unsteady descent and she forgot all about whatever spectacle may have been on the screen. Looking at his lips so close to hers, her mouth literally watered to taste them. Then before she could gather herself, she slipped her fingers lithely into the fringe of thick curls at his nape. It was almost instinctual and his reaction was equally impulsive. Keeping one arm around her waist with his hand planted flat at her hip, his other hand laid warm on the bare skin of her leg.

Rick wanted this so badly.

It had never been a problem for Rick to get pussy. In fact, most times, instead of actually being into a girl, he was fucking them because he felt like it was duty as a nice guy. If they wanted it.

And they always wanted it.

Even after he separated from Lori she would lure him over under some pretense just to get him in bed. It continued like that for a while until they both felt so numb due to their failures with each other, it was more sad than anything else. It was insane how the thought of having a woman hadn't crossed his mind in so long and yet, since he'd met Michonne he was on the road to ruin as his thoughts stayed mired in the gutter all day and even deeper in reckless fantasies at night. He knew that look in a woman's eyes all too well. He saw it burning in the umber eyes begging him now.

Michonne thought of karma as she sat atop this heavenly man, wanting to straddle him and make quick work of the desperate itch he was producing in her, one more intense than she had ever experienced before. She thought to herself, _"Look at you now. You came to this party to unhinge Mike and you're on this white guy you know nothing about ready to drop that eagle. Tables turned like shit on you…"_

Rick suddenly slackly leaned back in the chair and Michonne almost took a dive against his body to follow him over until he directed her attention to the screen with a casual thrust of his chin.

Michonne saw a man and a woman, all in white, trying to open the door to the pool house under the lights of the patio area. Unable to get inside, the couple hastily turned their attention to each other and began devouring each other passionately in the secluded spot against the little building's outer wall. Michonne's mouth fell open in shock and she whipped her head around to glimpse Rick's reaction.

He was already staring at her, though, the same periwinkle stare that sent a shiver through her whenever she met it directly.

"Look." he goaded her to watch. He, himself, paid no attention the couple ravishing each other. All his attention was focused on her as she slowly turned back to the monitor, feeling more excitedly rotten than she had in a long time. She felt like the screen glowed red, like eye on an electric stove and she could feel real heat coming off her neck making her cheeks tingle with a dewy sheen.

Rick reached up from behind her back and dragged the cursor to the pornographic window on the monitor. He clicked to maximize the scene across the full 42 inches of the screen. Michonne sat in his lap, transfixed on the woman, who was now crouching before the man. Obviously aware of where this was going, she looked to Rick again but he remained unaffected by the unknown couple's activity as he enabled the audio feature. The unfamiliar voice of the man came out of the speaker and Michonne heard the man on screen command the woman,

"Yeah. Come on. Hurry up and get this dick before he comes out here."

Using only his name, but issuing no real mandate, Michonne gasped. She slapped his hand controlling the mouse, chastising him for his bad behavior. "Rick!"

"What?" Rick answered her with a mischievous chuckle and came closer to her scandalized face. He whispered, "You don't wanna help me keep an eye on thangs?"

Michonne licked her lips into her mouth nervously as tried to stifle a smile from developing. She couldn't believe what she was doing, that she was doing it with _him_. Her eyes drifted back to the couple, and he drifted back to his reclining position in the chair. _This is some freaky ass shit,_ she told herself, _Drea would never believe it,_ as she watched the woman's head move purposefully back and forth into the man's crotch.

She didn't know why she felt so awkward, but she squirmed in Rick's lap and the bottom of her thigh settled on his growing erection. She jumped forward up his knee away from the long, meaty appendage that seemed to be chasing her down. Michonne's stomach dropped like she was falling over the first hill of a rollercoaster and she tried to play off the fact that the feel of him had made her flinch.

She looked back and saw Rick smiling at her under the hoods of his eyes. "Sorry." still avoiding his gaze, she whispered an apology for touching him there. It felt stupid to be sorry since she was sure he didn't mind, but his silence and his stare made her clumsy with her body and even clumsier with her words.

Rick responded with a teasing chuckle, but no words. She could feel his eyes burrowing into her as the unidentified man brought the woman between himself and the wall, lifting her up, with her legs spread wide and thrown over his arms. The lady's moans of pleasure made Michonne breathe deeply in effort to regain her composure. She crossed her legs to quiet the storm that was threatening her already thin veil of calm. She wiggled again, seeking a more comfortable position and this time her clit grazed the firmness of Rick's knee. She felt that brief satisfaction and tried to talk herself out of pursuing it further.

Michonne dropped her head, no longer looking at the screen. She was just trying to get a hold of herself and coming off completely unsuccessful as the lady's cries came quicker and more intense. Rick's hand startled her as he braced it flat against her back.

"You okay, Michonne?" he asked her, knowing full well she was about to come undone.

His fingertips lightly traced her spine up and down as she leaned forward like a dozing heroin addict, rocking herself back and forth on his knee. One of her hands held the desk, her other hand was pressed against his other knee as she held herself up through her fall. Rick was enjoying every minute of this unexpected turn. His eyes were locked on her taking in her scent and her ebony skin tight across her collarbone as she inhaled deeply. The jut of her voluptuous ass over his leg and the long lines of her arm giving her balance over him, had him mesmerized and his cock was set bone hard, straining against his pants. But he wouldn't move until he saw her finish. He wanted to see if she would. He was fascinated by her, wondering how he got so lucky tonight. Biting his lip to distract himself from how hard he was, he growled in frustration when someone knocked at the office door.

Michonne whimpered in protest as Rick hollered back a nonchalant "Yeah." and shrank the pool house footage back to its original size without a hint of hurry. She stood up quickly but found all the blood rushing from her head and made it no further than the edge of the desk in front of him when Daryl came through the door with a look that made Michonne look back to Rick with embarrassment.

"Hey, it's time to make a round." Daryl informed him pointing at his watch, looking awkwardly like he'd walked in on the couple by the pool house instead of two people who were fully clothed and not even touching each other.

"Hey. Okay." Rick acknowledged. "Daryl this is Michonne. Michonne, Daryl." Rick made introductions. And they exchanged pleasantries with as little eye contact as possible.

Rick didn't make a move to leave the chair as his aroused state would have been impossible to hide. "Be right there." he called back to Daryl who, to Michonne's relief, seemed in a rush to leave the room.

Rick was still slanted, carefree, in the chair when he dragged his hands over his face. He looked up at Michonne and reminded her in raspy sigh, "Patience."

She was still practically speechless and only offered a nod. Her mind was still trying to decide if this was some erotic wet dream that she was about to wake up covered in sweat from. She grabbed her clutch and her water and walked ahead of Rick who was guiding her to the door with his hand at the small of her back. Daryl waited on the other side of the threshold as Rick and Michonne emerged from the room back into the full strength of the DJ's playlist.

Merle's voice came over the walkie, "Got us a 'alterca-shen', by the pool house. Two guys tryin' to knock each other's heads off."

Daryl looked at Rick, who nodded for him to go. And the melancholy guy with limp hair, wearing cut-off sleeves announced, "On the way." as he took off around the corner and down the stairs.

"I think Mike's party is ruined. I'd feel better if you went home, before they really start bouncin' off the walls." Rick said against her ear, this time, so she could hear him.

"I was going anyway." Michonne realized. She didn't have any other reason to stay, now. "I just have to find Drea." She shouted over the music as she walked ahead of Rick down the stairway and pulled out her phone to call her friend.

As they made their way, Mike came up to her, nodding recognition to Rick but not registering that she was walking _with_ him. "Hey Mimi, Gabby went home." he informed her, hoping she'd hear opportunity knocking. "Guess you were right about her not liking our dance."

Far from hearing opportunity, Michonne barely registered Mike.

She hardly acknowledged him as he spoke. She turned around, looking up at Rick and said, "I guess, I'll see you Wednesday."

"I'd like to hear from you before then." He put his cards face up. "Can I call you tonight?" Rick asked her and she rewarded him with a demure smile.

Michonne agreed sweetly, "Okay."

Mike was still standing there. It was like the phone call all over again except this time he could put a face to the voice of the man stealing her attention.

"I gotta go." Rick threw his thumb regretfully behind him towards the pool house. The music was no longer playing as people cleared the dance floor to spectate the fight outside. "Get home safe."

"Oh, wait, Rick!" She remembered with a jolt. "You don't know my number!" Michonne called at his back already eager for that call.

"I'll get it." Rick smiled as his tall manly, stature jogged away in what looked like slow motion to Michonne. He reassured her over his broad shoulder with a wink, "It's my job to know thangs."

The last thing she saw was his stubble-covered dimple as he made a path for himself through the crowd. The next thing she saw was Mike, standing there looking stupid.

"Who the fuck is that, Mimi?" He crumpled his face, reading the pure rapture on her own.

Michonne kept looking in the direction Rick went, even though she couldn't see him anymore. She knew he was handling the situation out there like he had handled her upstairs, employing scarcely more than his fingertips. She blushed and answered Mike with a giddy smile, not even turning to give him a full view of her pretty face, "That's Rick Grimes, Michael."

"But who is he to you?" Mike spit angrily as she walked away.

She waved him off. Swiping to call Drea, she thought of Rick's words and gave him a patronizing scoff, "It would take forever to explain it to you."


	9. Chapter 9

"Don't 'Hey, ladies' us. I'm still pissed at you for not coming to the party." Andrea extended a spicy welcome to Maggie Rhee as she joined the conference call.

Maggie giggled turning red, "I tried to come but... Don't blame me guys, it was Glenn!" her embarrassed tone made her country accent so thick Michonne couldn't help but fawn over her and come to her aide.

"Aww, leave her alone, Blondie!"

"I will not. Her excuses are lame." Andrea persisted, thoroughly exaggerating Maggie's drawl in an overdone, whiny impersonation of the newly wed, "I couldn't come. I fell on Glenn's dick and lost track of time...

"Blondie!" Maggie protested bashfully.

Their naughty friend continued to mock Maggie's sweet timidity, "I couldn't come. My panties were too wet to leave the house..."

Maggie squeaked out an objection, "Drea! I never..."

Andrea had to get her one more time, "I couldn't come. I had an ugly rug burn..."

Michonne laughed as she confirmed, "That one is true, Maggie."

"Oh my gosh! You guys are terrible!" Maggie blushed under her bangs as she traveled to meet a potential client. She felt like the driver of the car coming to a stop beside her at the red light could read her face and knew exactly what Andrea had been saying about her. The green-eyed brunette threw her hand up to her face to keep from being recognized by the stranger- who she would probably never see again.

"What Blondie's _trying_ to say is:" Michonne tried to explain, "We're happy that you're enjoying all your trips to _south_ Korea..." she said and Andrea cackled at her play on words, "... but we miss you. Drea is too much without you to cut some of her potency." Michonne shook her head as she strolled through an uninhabited antique shop looking for a piece to catch her eye. She found a tasseled plush gold settee and plopped down on it to test its comfort and to engage her friends fully on this call.

"Whatever, bitch." Andrea barked at her phone and rolled her eyes as she sat at her desk full of numbers, polishing off a box of cookies. "You're a longer line of coke than I am."

Maggie laughed at their banter. She felt a little guilty at Michonne's state of their union report in the face of her frequent absences. The people-pleaser tried to appease her friends, offering an apology, "I'm sorry, girls." She reminded them, "I went to the self-defense class with you guys, I don't get any points for that?"

Andrea proposed, "I will grant you 10 good girlfriend points if you do your job and help me tease this broad for her performance last night."

"Wait, what?" Michonne sat up confused, "I thought we were teasing the Care Bear?"

"Nope. We're teasing you, now." Andrea switched sides with no warning. "Right, Maggie?"

"Okay. Sorry, Mimi." Maggie giggled wickedly as she put on her naughty cap. "But you go first, Blondie and I'll catch up."

Michonne laughed at Maggie's struggle to misbehave while Andrea strapped her into the hot seat. "So, Mimi, what exactly did you learn in class last night? Because it certainly seemed like the only things you were able to grasp were Rick's curls..."

"What?!" Michonne jumped in her own defense, "He told me... he told _all three of us_ to lock our fingers behind his neck to practice those knee strikes!"

Andrea added her version of events, "Yeah but after you did the drill, you kept your hands right there staring all into his eyes. You two might as well have been slow dancing."

"He was still explaining stuff to me, Blondie!" Michonne begged for a little mercy as she giggled. "I was giving him my undivided attention!"

"Don't give me that." Andrea contradicted her, "Knee strikes are not that difficult. Mrs. Tulips and Cupcakes knocked the wind out of him on the first try."

Maggie winced, still contrite about hurting him. "It was an accident."

The mousy little deal-maker had kept to herself how much fun it had been to let loose some of her pent-up aggression. She didn't even know she had pent-up aggression. But, boy, did she enjoy kicking and punching and perfecting her battle cry... maybe a little more than she should have. She even talked Rick into agreeing to take her out to the gun range to teach her how to shoot.

Maggie's friends ignored her remorse as Michonne covered her obsession with touching Rick's hair through a guilty smile, "I'm a lover, not a fighter, Drea. I needed a little more instruction. Rick said it's good to commit the moves to muscle memory."

"So, which one of his muscles do you remember most, Mimi?" Andrea joked, lifting her brow smugly.

"Yeah, Mimi?" Maggie joined in.

"Oh my god! Shut up, you two!"

On a roll, Andrea recalled, "When he had you laying on the mat and your legs were wrapped around his waist, I felt like y'all needed some privacy... a little candlelight..." Michonne groaned sensing that her friend was just getting started. "Seriously, Mimi, I feel like you should probably take a pregnancy test after that class last night." Maggie laughed, bringing Andrea's attention back to her. "Maggie, you are supposed to be teasing her too, not just laughing at my jokes."

"I know. Ummmm..." Maggie racked her brain for something she could say, but all she could think of was, "I think you and Rick were really cute together, Mimi."

"What?! No!" Andrea complained, "How is that teasing her?"

"Thanks, Maggie." Michonne smiled.

"Sorry, I'm not good at teasin', Blondie. But I think he really likes you, Mimi... a lot." Maggie submitted sincerely. "And he's a real nice guy. Nothin' against Mike," Maggie tried to stay neutral, "but Rick is the kind of guy you need. You need a guy to love on you with some serious intent and Rick looks like a 'builder'. You're a beautiful girl and a great friend and..."

"What the hell are you doing, Maggie?" Andrea fussed, "Do not turn this into a heart to heart, dammit!"

Not heeding Andrea's warning, Michonne's tone turned serious and tender. "I know. He is so... different from the kind of guys I'm used to. He just says what he wants but it's never, like, obnoxious or anything. And that voice! Like when he called me for the first time the other night, I got real butterflies in my stomach. That has never happened to me before. I thought butterflies was something people made up. Mmm..." Michonne moaned feeling that same vibration in her belly just conjuring his image in her mind, "... his lips and his eyes! The way he looks at me... I literally melt!"

"Yeah," Andrea agreed. "He looks at you like he wants to fuck the wrinkles outta your clothes."

Michonne laughed out loud and Maggie scolded Andrea, "Drea! Must you be so vulgar!"

Andrea sighed, "Yes... but if it makes you feel any better, what I meant to say was: Rick looks at Mimi like he wants to fuck her eyes crossed."

Even Maggie laughed now. But she went right back into a dewy-eyed pitch. "I think you should wait to have sex... since he's diff'rent. Try somethin' diff'rent with him."

Michonne thought back to her little tryst with Rick at Mike's party and became flushed with fever. All she'd been thinking about was what sex would be like with him. After last night- being grabbed at by his big strong hands as he simulated an attack and being under his weight, out of breath from employing the skills he was teaching her- she wanted to do it all again, but without her yoga pants.

When she threw her elbow just like he'd instructed, Rick grabbed her from behind and whispered "Good girl." steamily down her neck and she felt her panties puddle instantly. She caught a glimpse of his rippled abs, rising and falling furiously from exertion, when he lifted his shirt to wipe a little sweat from that drop-dead gorgeous face.

And when class was over she had joked about how out of shape she must be since her thighs were burning from the repeated kicking she'd done. Like a gentleman, Rick had sat her down beside him and pulled her legs into his lap. Then, like a barbarian, he was pressing his thumbs and fingers into the pliable hefty muscles so close to her eager pussy. But it was his aqua-colored eyes, that wandered all over her body with appreciation while he touched her, that made her shiver and relax into his touch. She didn't care what the other women in the class thought. She didn't care about the jokes she would hear from Andrea. All she cared about was how she could make him linger a little longer and go a little further.

"I don't know about _that_ , Care Bear." Michonne sounded doubtful of Maggie's suggestion to wait.

Almost as if he could feel his fate being decided without his input, Michonne got a series of texts from Rick that made her fall right out of her friends' conversation.

 **Rick: Hope this doesn't come off cocky but**

 **...**

 **Rick: I just got the feeling you were thinking about me as much I'm thinking about you.**

 **...**

 **Rick: Hope I'm not wrong and embarrassing myself.**

 **Michonne: You said it's your job to know things**

 **...**

 **Michonne: You seem to be good at it**

Back on the three-way call, Andrea would not even allow the discussion of any chastity, "Mimi, we both know Mrs. Pumpkin Pie and Sweet Tea is very cute with her idealistic mentality... But a man like Rick Grimes is out here begging to be fucked! My grandma used to say, 'Save a horse, Ride a cowboy'. Think of the horses, Mimi!" Andrea pleaded dramatically.

But Michonne was busy thinking of a response to Rick's next text,

 **Rick: How are your thighs?**

 **Michonne: Well, I can walk.**

 **...**

 **Michonne: Thanks for the massage**

 **...**

 **Michonne: You're really good with your hands**

Maggie forcefully countered Andrea's reasoning, "My daddy always said 'Makin' love without _tastin'_ love goes down sweet but gives you heartburn! Ain't you had enough heartburn, Mimi?"

"Uh huh." Michonne answered distractedly, as she read,

 **Rick: I'm glad you think so**

 **Michonne: Why?**

 **Rick: Because I want to touch you again**

 **...**

 **Rick: And often**

Michonne was unbelievably turned on by Rick's admission. She squirmed in the sun-filled consignment shop as she imagined Rick's voice saying what she'd just read.

She would welcome those hands anytime he wanted access. She would part her lips for his fingers if they pressed to feel her tongue. She would suckle them hopelessly until she convinced him she could accommodate something larger. She would throw back her head for his palms to cover her throat and squeeze. She would accept the punishment for ever breathing in anything but him. He could spank her if he wanted. And if his protective hands wanted to explore her most vulnerable spot, dive higher and sink deeper into her loftiest point, she would never deny him.

She could do all of that and still wait to _make_ _love_ like Maggie said, she reasoned. She could at least try. She decided a man like him was worth the experiment.

 **Michonne: I have no objections**

 **...**

 **Michonne: I just don't want to go too fast**

She looked at her text and the words looked so foreign to her... She hoped Maggie was right. She hoped he was a 'builder'. She was hoping so fiercely that she didn't even notice Andrea and Maggie's conversation ramp up.

"Jesus Christ!" Andrea rolled her eyes, "Care Bear, you're forfeiting all your good girlfriend points talking this mushy-kissy-face crap!"

"Sorry Blondie, But my daddy's right. Me and Glenn, we waited for feelings. It's so much better when you can establish trust..."

"You and Glenn?" Maggie repeated incredulously. "You and Glenn are _made_ of feelings! How long did it take to for you two to find these _feelings,_ anyway?"

"We waited two months before we... you know." She said shyly.

"You see, that's the problem, Care Bear. We'll all be in nursing homes by the time Mimi _trusts_ a guy." Michonne was getting lost in a day dream about Rick while Andrea continued to argue with Maggie. "You don't know the satisfaction you can get from a good meaningless dick-down!"

"No. I don't know anything about that." Maggie admitted, unashamed of her inexperience. "But I do know that the happiest I've ever seen you was when Shane came home and that's because you love each other and that obviously couldn't have been about the sex. That was all just phone calls and letters and building a _relationship_ even though he was away. And I also know that just because he has a record and his job only pays him minimum wage doesn't really change how you feel about him. You two belong together...

"How did this conversation become about me?" Andrea groused. "Mimi, help me out here!"

Michonne was eagerly and nervously waiting for Rick's response. All she could offer to the topic was another mindless, "Uh huh."

Just then his words popped up in a bubble on her phone and she squealed in relief,

delight,

excitement,

and

thanks.

 **Rick: Why rush forever?**

* * *

 **A/N: *Sigh... I wanted Rick and Michonne's texts to be formatted differently, unfortunately this site doesn't allow what I was trying to do. :( I hope the conversations still flowed for you guys. If not, suggestions on how to make it better would be appreciated. Chapter 10 will bring us back to the present and Mike has no idea how far Rick will go to protect his woman and their future from all enemies, foreign and domestic. lol But he gon' learn...  
**

 **Thanks for all the favorites, follows and especially the reviews.**

 **-comewithnattah**


	10. Chapter 10

Michael Solomon rushed out of his extended deposition. It was almost noon and he couldn't have cared less about Mrs. Muriel Flood's defamation case. At the moment, he was more pleased with himself than he could contain. It was just his way. Michonne's invitation had him wearing an invisible crown on his inflated head.

Throughout his childhood- and even now, at 30 years old, on occasion- his parents called him their 'Little Prince'. His mother, especially, always brought him front and center at church, family reunions, trips to the grocery store etc. to tell everyone about the games he'd won or the grades he'd gotten. Michonne had grown up being ignored by everyone so now she spoiled herself, but Mike had been spoiled by everyone growing up and now he did everything he could to avoid being ignored. His upbringing defined him as much as Michonne's defined her.

But, in the real world he could see he'd been a big fish in a small pond- or at least he would've seen it, if his mother didn't constantly label him a prize. It wasn't easy being a young black man in his field... really in any field, but in the justice system- he definitely felt the pressure. He didn't even have a passion for law. He just liked to _say_ he was a lawyer. He liked to win cases. He liked the prestige.

He did have a passion for Michonne, but it was so muddled with his self-image that he couldn't tell if he wanted her back because she'd been taken from him and his pride couldn't bear it, or because she'd basically told him she'd rather be alone than with him and that contradicted everything his mother told him. It could've been that he just missed saying a woman like her belonged to him.

So now that he thought he had persisted and prevailed, he had to have someone pat him on the back. Terry wasn't the best for congratulations, but he'd have to do until Mike could get a new selfie with Michonne up on IG and bask in the flurry of double taps and comments such a picture was sure to be met with. He was already trying to come up with a clever caption as he left his office to walk to her place. He put a single ear bud in and called his man.

"What up, boy!"

Terry responded without the same enthusiasm, "What up, though?"

"Shit." He answered banally, "You at lunch?"

"Nah, out here supervising a leak." His friend responded from the cab of the gas company's truck watching his subordinates dig up the earth amid a gang of machinery. Terry had paid his dues doing manual labor making holes in the ground. When he got his third ranking as a crew leader, he never picked up a shovel again.

"True." Mike agreed absentmindedly, then casually began the set up for his well-deserved I-told-you-so, "Remember how you said I fucked it up at the movies with Mimi?"

"Yeah." Terry nodded unconcerned, as he shuffled some paperwork in his lap. "Cuz you did."

"And you told me I was beating a dead dog calling her so much."

"Yeah. Cuz you was."

"And you kept singing that Dru Hill joint We're Not Making Love No More?"

"Yeah. Cuz you wasn't."

Mike paused on the sidewalk for a smug lay-up to the conversation, "So why am I on my way to see her then... at her house?"

"At her house?" Terry repeated, unconvinced. He told Mike plainly, "I don't believe you."

"Man, I swear on everything!" Mike slammed his first into his palm to reinforce his words. "I called her today and she want me to come over there."

Terry went along but something was off. "Come over for what, though?"

"She said she tryna talk." Mike said with a contradictory tone and his lips pursed to the side. "But you know Mimi don't talk. She want me to come give her something..." he crowed, "and the letter of the day is D!"

Terry would not join the parade for Mike just yet. He shook his head, puzzled, "I don't know man, you might end up getting your ass whopped again."

"Whatever."

Mike had heard from Terry at least a million times about the injuries he took in the melee with Rick and the throat chop Michonne administered at the movie theater. It was one of his best friends' favorite topics and it stopped being funny to Mike the very first time Terry said it.

"I mean, that white boy _did_ beat you up..." Terry tilted his head, sure of his retelling of the account.

"He did not beat me up." Mike challenged, "We _fought_. You only saw me..."

Terry interjected to add, "...then _she_ beat you up at the movies..."

"She beat me up?" Mike echoed, aghast.

"You sounded like Lord Vader the next day."

Mike sucked his teeth, unimpressed by his boy's joke. "Ok, she caught me one time," he admitted, "But it's all about to be worth it. Cuz it's that pussy's turn to get beat up." he said, like it was a hero's catchphrase. "All the shit she did... the Future concert, my birthday, getting with the 'blue-eyed devil', that crap at the movies... I been there for her while 'Richard'..." he said Rick's name mockingly, "...was out of the picture." He frowned thinking of all he had done to win her back. "I been listening to how much she loves that dude for weeks, playing that good _friend_ role."

"So now you getting what you want, huh?"

"Yep."

"And what's that?"

"Mimi… I want _her_."

"But all she does is make you look stupid. You can't handle that girl." Terry couldn't understand.

"I been _handling_ her for like three weeks and I'm about to go _handle_ her now."

"Okay, so say you go over there. Get some pussy... then what? Y'all gonna be a couple again?"

"Yeah." Mike offhandedly added, "I might marry her."

Now, Terry had no more chill. He let out a snort followed by a good long laugh. Mike listened, unamused as his friend was brought to tears at his expense. While he waited for Terry to recover, he noticed a pretty, dark haired woman cross in front of him from the opposite side of the street. Her backpack was snug on her back across her cropped leather jacket. Her hips swayed expertly in her tight jeans and Mike was pleasantly distracted as Terry regained composure.

"If you marry Michonne, one of y'all gonna end up dead and since she be whopping _yo'_ ass, it'll probably be you."

"She do not be whopping my ass." Mike spoke a little lower, so the woman ahead of him couldn't hear.

"She gonna hit yo' ass with a Wonder Woman punch and just... like collapse your whole chest cavity." Terry teased.

"Nah, I'm trying to tell you, she been mellowing out since that happened." Mike swore. "She, like, flipped out or something last night... you know how she be all dramatic... she told me not to call her no more… she loves her games, man." he made excuses. "She been testing me and testing me to see if I was gonna stick around... all she wanted me to do was chase her." Now he raised his voice an octave, hoping to impress the woman who his eyes were trained on, "I know how to handle women, playboy... especially her."

The woman turned and offered him an interested smile that exhilarated Mike instantly.

Terry wondered, "What about her boyfriend. Don't that white dude carry a gun?"

"I'm not tripping off him. I been telling her can't no dude named 'Richard' give her what she needs. Only a black king can do that." Mike said for the benefit of his friend on the phone and the beauty in his sights.

"Oh yeah, I forgot..." Terry began with a double-edged tone, "...a black king needs a black queen, right?" Terry razzed him. "So how long you think it'll be before you're calling her that 'bougie ass bitch' again?"

"Nah man. Go 'head." Mike laughed at being called out on how he referred to Michonne in conversation with his friends when she pissed him off. He saw the woman ahead of him look back at him again and bring her phone to her ear. Mike assumed the flirtations with her were over and he paid more attention to Terry as he reminded him of how he really felt about Michonne at times,

"...or that bratty ass bitch?"

"Nah man, stop." Mike's laughter died down. "You know how she is."

"Actually, I don't." Terry disagreed. "She always been cool with me but that could be because I never had to date her..."

"Exactly." Mike felt vindicated until his friend continued,

" _You_ always been cool with me too, probably because I never had to date you either, though."

"Okay so just for the record, what?" Mike pitched, "You think I'm 'bout to go over here, get my ass kicked, then White Boy Richard is gonna hunt me down and shoot me... but that's all for the best, because I couldn't handle Michonne anyway. Right?"

Terry took another dig at him, "See women say you don't listen... but you did good with that. I wish this conversation was recorded."

Mike ignored him once again and asked, "So when I decide to put a ring on her finger and have her barefoot and pregnant, ironing my shirts and cooking my dinner... you not gon' be my best man?"

"If you can get a ring on Mimi's finger you should be your _own_ best man, cuz that's the only dude that's cuffing her: The literal best man in the world. Somebody with the patience of a saint." Terry called it. "And that's why she's still single and always gonna be single cuz ain't no such thing as a man like that. But look, do you." His friend conceded, seeing Mike was trying to prove a hopeless point that was too stupid to argue. "How long you want me to wait to hear from you before I send the cops and the ambulance over to her place to save you? ... Where she live at anyway?" He chuckled.

"In the Madison, on 9th Street."

"What?!" Terry exclaimed in shock. "All this time she lives right by her job and you didn't even know?" He was tickled again. "Yeah, that sounds like true love to me." He scoffed. "Damn, that girl a savage."

"Fuck you man." Mike laughed along somewhat embarrassed. "What you doing tonight?"

"Shit. Probably just chill in the house with my girl." Terry answered with a yawn.

"A'ight, bet." Mike was excited and bragged, "If she can still walk after I get in them guts, we can meet for dinner so you can watch her eating out of my hand."

"Yeah, call me." Terry was snickering again. He gave one final sarcastic jab, "Dinner and a _magic_ show sounds good."

* * *

Tara had arrived in the lobby of Rick and Michonne's building within an hour of getting the call from Carol. Grimes was ready to expand the operations of his business from consults to a wide range of security services and Carol had suggested Tara Chambler's team. Rosita Espinoza, Karen Ponzio, Dianne Cahill- all women hungry for opportunity and exceptional in the field. Rick had enjoyed a couple business lunches with the ladies and liked them all. Daryl liked them well enough too and Rick knew he'd only said otherwise to ruffle Carol's feathers. Dixon/Grimes used Tara's team from time to time, but now he wanted to bring them in permanently and let them handle surveillance and intel, while he spent more time traveling, training and securing contracts.

Michonne was introduced to Tara and after offering their guest a beverage, Rick got right to business. "So, how'd it go?"

Tara smirked confidently. Reaching in her bag, she pulled out a tablet, brought up the live screen and handed it over to Rick. Looking pleased, he nodded, "So this is a live feed?

"Yeah." Tara confirmed, "Real time."

"What about playback?" Rick asked as he studied the screen.

She came to stand beside him and Rick made note of the series of selections her finger made as she went to another tab. "This is the playback cache" she pointed, "Audio." Her fingers sailed, making commands, "This is location one... this is location two."

"Quick and very thorough, Miss Chambler. I'm impressed." Rick complimented their work.

Tara smiled and offered, "So can we just do this deal already? I think we've proven ourselves."

"You have." Rick granted.

"With equal signing bonuses for each of us?"

"You drive a hard bargain." He chuckled and extended his hand, "But it's a deal."

"And you take us out to dinner to celebrate?" She did her version of an excited smiled with a flaky expression.

"Okay." Rick rolled his eyes. "Now beat it."

When Tara stepped off the elevator on the ground floor, she could see Karen waiting outside in her leather jacket and jeans. As she proceeded out, a dark-skinned man in a fitted charcoal suit, who she didn't know but was very familiar with, put his ID back in his wallet and signed the guest book. Tara gave an awkward smile as she passed him.

"So, you're ready for this, 'Chonne?" Rick squeezed her hand after the front desk informed them of Mike's arrival. He could see she was ready for a fight but she also had a bit of trepidation.

"Yeah. I just hope you'll keep your cool."

"I kept my cool last time." He attempted to assure her.

"You call that keeping your cool?" Before he could answer, Michonne explained, "The last time, Mike thought it was me and him against you, so he lashed out at _you_." She said with her big eyes looking away as she unintentionally envisioned what could happen if her next words proved true. "This time, if he feels like I switched sides... he'll probably project his anger at me..."

Rick understood her meaning. The first time Rick knew of Mike's existence, he pegged him for an idiot. He saw him a few times after that in passing and Mike would make some petty comment about rent-a-cops or his disapproval of white men dating black women. Rick brushed those comments off, but the night he and Michonne separated, that kind of slick talk had him about ready to snuff out her ex's existence in a downtown restaurant.

Now, three weeks after that incident, the older man was thinking straight enough to understand that he couldn't erase the guy from the planet but he was going to make sure Mike disappeared from their lives for good. He hoped it wouldn't come to blows this time but that would be up to Mr. Solomon. If Mike was fool enough to get out of line with Michonne... Rick's jaw was set to stone as he felt anger flood his chest at the thought.

"It's gonna be okay, baby." he promised. Coming to stand directly in front of her in his white t-shirt stretched snugly across his chest and his dark blue jeans, he palmed her plum-colored cheeks and brushed his thumb against her cheekbone to soothe her. But he didn't know what would soothe him if Michonne was right. He would kill Mike right where the boy stood if Michonne got hurt in any way. _So help me, God._ Before he could talk himself down from the enraging concept, her ex, Rick's arch nemesis and textbook fuck boy was knocking at their door.

Rick stepped aside and took a seat at the large wooden dining room table, just out of Mike's peripheral as Michonne opened the door and he entered.

"Damn, boo. You look good." Mike complimented her sincerely. Michonne had on a pair of high-waisted, peach-colored flowy pants and a fluffy cream short-sleeved cable knit sweater. Rick admired the view of her profile himself as she closed the door behind the young man. "I don't get a hug?" He smiled, opening his arms to Michonne and exposing his back to Rick, still unaware that he was seated behind him.

Rick's spoke up, answering Mike's question, "Nah. Not today." His voice was like the sound of metal scraping ice and it sent a chill down Mike's back as he jumped nearly out of his fine leather shoes. Rick's body language was open yet unwelcoming as he perched one elbow on the back of the dining chair and one arm flat on the table. His legs were wide and one of his booted feet was positioned in front of the other, like he was on his mark waiting to hear a blank shot from a starter's pistol.

Mike turned around, instinctively raising his fists but dropping them slowly when he saw Rick seated and staid a few strides away. A look of recognition drifted across Mike's face as he understood that the only guts in danger today were _his..._ at the end of one of Rick's lightning-quick jabs. Michonne's ex scoffed at Rick and then turned back to her. "We still playing games, huh?"

"No. No games, Mike." Michonne lifted her palms to set him at ease. "I said I wanted to talk to you."

"So, what the fuck 'Steven Segal' doing here?"

"He lives here Mike. This is his place, too."

"So, he left you and you took him back?" Mike shook his head disbelieving and disappointed over the situation. "Damn, that's a remix for your ass." he whispered to himself. He looked back and forth between Rick and Michonne. "You told me you don't do u-turns, Mimi."

"That didn't stop you from thinking that I'd do one for you." Michonne replied with a hint of attitude.

"So, he's the one, huh?"

"Yes. He is." Michonne sighed trying to bring the focus back to the issue at hand. "Look Mike. I was dead wrong that night we had dinner."

"And what about the day we had lunch or the next day we had lunch or the next day we had lunch..." Mike asked, looking at Rick smugly as if he was revealing some disheartening information that Michonne was trying to keep secret. Rick just looked right back at him and took a deep breath, cracking the knuckles on his right hand with his thumb to avoid cracking Mike's face.

Michonne could see Mike's intention for bringing that up and continued, exhausted with his childishness already, "Rick knows about that, Mike. I was way out of line. I apologize to you for that. But I need you to hear me right now. This is over. I don't have anything else to say to you once you leave here today."

To Mike's surprise he was getting emotional. He could feel perspiration dampening his dress shirt. "He making you say this?" He turned to the man in question, "You making her say this? That's why you're sitting there? Making sure she gets her lines right?"

Michonne answered, wanting to keep Rick's interaction with Mike at a minimum, "No, he's not.

But Rick spoke up with a menacing smirk, posing his own question to the man with his chest puffed up in _his_ house, "Thought you knew Michonne."

"I do. I know her better than you ever will 'Richard'." Mike answered like a juvenile.

"Then you know. I couldn't make her do nothin' if I tried." Rick settled the matter.

Seething, Mike rolled his eyes and asked Michonne, "So, what, you saying? When you see me in the street you ain't gonna speak?"

"No more than to be polite."

"You fuckin' up Mimi, as usual." Mike warned her. "I was ready to marry you. You think this white guy gonna do that with _you_? With your baggage?"

Michonne's jaw dropped at his shocking declaration followed by such a malicious insult.

"Watch how you talk to her." Rick's voice came gruffly back into the conversation.

Michonne's eyes quickly darted to Rick. She held a hand up to calm her man and rested her other hand on her hip, leaning forward to make her point, "You don't have to worry about what Rick and I do. I just want you to understand that..."

"No. I don't understand." He cut her off using a higher octave, "You been crying on my shoulder for weeks over him... weeks! I never made you cry like that."

"You couldn't." Michonne didn't mince words. "I never felt for you what I feel for Rick." Feeling the need to exonerate Rick, she added, "And I was crying over my choices, not because of anything he'd done."

"He left you and I stayed. And you do me dirty?" The space between Mike's brows creased as he struggled to understand how all this could blow up in his face. He stood silent trying to process it all. He couldn't leave it like this. He racked his brain trying to figure out a way to swing the pendulum back in his direction.

While he calculated, Rick approached where they stood with the tablet in his hand. "Look," He began addressing Mike as the well-dressed man stared bitterly in to Michonne's eyes. "You should just go 'head and cut your losses." Rick counseled, "You need to understand that the only reason you walked out of that restaurant is because half of that night was Michonne crankin' you up and I know she can make little guys, like you, do crazy thangs. Make you jump when you should run."

Mike's stance was tight and his shoulders rose high with each impassioned breath. Michonne's eyes were fixed on Rick as her heart beat heavy with concern, now that the distance between he and Mike was bridged. He towered over her and Mike, both and she remembered that night at Duncan's all too well. It had taken three waiters and a line cook to separate the two of them and now there was only her. The longer this situation lingered the more jittery she became. "Just show him, Rick." She requested of the man she knew would protect her from any harm. "Let's not drag this out. Mike," her voice jolted her ex, who was far away in thought even though his eyes were set on hers, "Rick has something you need to see."

Rick spoke now. "You already know what I do for a livin'. But I want to impress upon you how little it would take for me to get next to you if you ever bother Michonne again." Slowly Mike's eyes dropped to the tablet and Rick swiped the screen, bringing up location one: Mike's apartment. He immediately recognized the view from his living room into his kitchen, where he saw Rosita rummaging through his cabinets. The tiny, but tough, Latina wore her hair in her signature ponytail under her army green patrol cap. The shirt tails of her plaid flannel button up were tied, exposing a hint of her midriff and her Glock nine in her waistband as she leaned inside his fridge and brought out a carton of old Chinese food to inspect with her nose.

Mike didn't say a word in protest as he studied the screen. Rick introduced location two and Mike ran his hand over his face and nodded slowly as acceptance of his situation washed over him.

He was now seeing video of his private office at work, in his secured building. A blonde woman in a non-descript blazer sat at his desk. Mike knew from her face that she didn't work there but everything else about her said she could have.

Dianne Cahill, retired private investigator, had traded in her daily attire of cargo pants and combat boots for a pants suit and kitten heels. The angle of the recording device showed her seated at his desk and as he looked closer at the screen of his computer monitor, his heart seized as his eyes focused and he saw that she was scrolling through his email account.

"Mimi!" Mike called in a panic as if she could or would help him.

"I hope you're getting the point Mr. Solomon." Rick said in all sincerity as he pressed play for Mike's final lesson. The tablet's speaker blurted with the sound of street traffic and Mike saw himself from less than an hour ago, feeling good and walking briskly to the place he was now- so sure he was walking into a win. Now he stood in the middle of a massive L and he sank even deeper when he heard his own voice come from Rick's hand's,

 _"So, when I decide to put a ring on her finger and have her barefoot and pregnant, ironing my shirts and cooking my dinner... you not gon' be my best man?"_

The photoplay shook with a rhythmic bounce. And it dawned on him that the pretty woman who flirted with him earlier was not flirting with him at all. Her bookbag must've had a hidden camera recording him and his whole conversation with Terry. He saw himself staring at her butt and smiling at her when she turned around. Rick smirked at the level of fuck boy Mike could achieve as the video continued to play.

 _"If she can still walk after I get in them guts, we can meet for dinner so you can watch her eating out of my hand."_

Michonne shook her head, embarrassed that she had actually dated this guy and happy that she dodged this bullet. Mike railed, snarling like a Rottweiler behind a fence. He snatched the tablet from Rick and tossed it, making it clatter loudly on the hard floor a few feet behind him. The younger man stepped to Rick like he'd forgotten everything that happened three weeks ago.

Rick looked back at the discarded device and gave a smile that scared Michonne a little and it would have scared Mike too if his anger wasn't making him so stupid.

Michonne put an arm between the two men and rested it on Rick's chest. She could feel his heart, steady and strong against her palm. Holding Rick with her presence more than her force, she turned to the obvious loser in the room,

"Don't do this, Mike."

He scoffed. "I didn't do this, you did."

"Look, just calm down." Michonne pleaded. "You're too angry and anger makes you stupid."

"And stupid can get you killed." Rick added with a healthy dose of malice.

Mike was livid. "You know, all this shit is illegal as hell!"

Rick calmly suggested, "Call the cops." he scratched through his beard, "But the ladies I work with are professionals."

Seeing it was futile trying to rattle Rick, Mike turned to Michonne. "So, you wanna choose this psycho, who's setting up cameras and shit to keep you away from me?"

"Not to keep _me_ away from _you_ , Mike. I already told you this is over. You won't go away."

"Okay." Mike chuckled, unhinged. He looked at Rick, "I'm gone." and shifted back to Michonne, "I'm gone. I'm gone just like your mother, your father, every family that ever tried to take you in. It's crazy how I put in all this effort for a bitch...

"Michonne." Rick looked to her, the alarms going off in his eyes. She understood that he was on a countdown from Mike calling her out of her name and she wordlessly pressed her hand tighter to his chest.

"...that obviously nobody in their right mind wants. Nobody but a psycho ass white boy!" Mike said with so much vitriol, he was nearly frothing at the mouth.

"You need to leave _now_ , Mike." Michonne advised him in shaky voice as his words pierced her just like he had intended.

"Yeah, Imma leave." He turned back to Rick. "I'll leave my leftovers with you 'Richard'. I'm done with her."

Rick was using all the force in his soul to ground himself in place. Michonne could see it. _Just go_ , Mike she kept repeating in her head as she watched her ex buck at the man she loved. Mike could have left unscathed but he had to say one more thing...

"You can have her back. I think I fucked your bitch enough. I..."

Rick couldn't let another word come out of his mouth. Everything about Mike's existence offended him because it was an affront to the woman he loved more than anything, the woman who was his forever.

Michonne shouting "Rick!" was the last thing Mike registered before he found the other's man's elbow flying into the bridge of his nose. An aberrant crack came from Mike's face followed by a dark red runnel of blood smeared across his face into his eye. Mike staggered back, stunned and he would have fallen if Rick's hands had not found their way to his throat.

"Rick, Rick! Baby, No, no, no!" Michonne started to panic as she saw the blood vessels in Mike's eyes appear more pronounced. Nearly knocked out from the first blow, her ex raised his arms weakly to fight back but could do little more than pull at Rick's wrists, desperate to fell oxygen inflate his lungs again. Rick was lost in his rage but his demeanor barely changed at all. Even as Mike slipped from consciousness, Rick looked like he could have been making a sandwich or brushing his hair. "Rick! He's gonna black out! Let him go!"

Michonne didn't know what to do. Any action she took could have dire consequences. She just needed to calm him. Mentally, he was in the field, in protection mode and she just needed to bring him home.

"Rick, I'm okay." She said softly. "Look at me. I'm okay." Her palm traveled gently up his straining bicep, to his shoulder and settled at his bearded cheek. "He didn't hurt me. I'm okay." Michonne slipped her fingers into his hair, pushing back his mane as it became wet with his sweltering fury. "Let him go." She whispered as Rick's grip slacked. He looked down into her misting, autumn-colored eyes. "We've got forever waiting." She smiled as a tear fell. Mike fell too, gasping for air, when Rick let him go entirely and wiped Michonne's tear away with his least bloody hand.

Mike tried to push himself up off the floor with shaky arms. He finally found his feet and stood, swaying like a drunk, his breathing still labored. Rick walked to the kitchen and snatched a dish towel off the counter and tossed it to Mike, who was cupping his gushing nose. "I broke it for you this, time." Rick said with chilling composure and went to open the door, ready to see the last of Michael Solomon. "I think I beat your ass enough. Now get the fuck outta our house."


	11. Chapter 11

Mike stumbled out of their lives, bloody and full of the kind of regret that could only come from carrying your nose in a lilac cheetah print dishtowel through the downtown streets.

Rick and Michonne stood before each other over the red droplets on the hardwood floor and did a lot of talking. Well, Rick did a lot of talking, a lot of reassuring, holding her drooping arms in his hands and stroking her soft raven skin in lieu of shaking her. She seemed to be adrift.

"Baby, you know you're the thang I love most in this world. Don't you? C'mon. You know that, Michonne."

Michonne only answered with a quiet nod.

"Mike was bound'ta make you out to be unworthy... how else could he handle losin' you for good?"

Michonne took a deep breath and exhaled wearily.

"You called it, baby. You knew 'e would. You said so b'fore he even got here, r'member? You were smart enough to know exactly what he'd do before he did it. And you're smart enough to know it was all bullshit, too."

Michonne only answered with a half-smile and dull eyes.

Rick was worried about her. He couldn't tell where she was at in her head. She said Mike hadn't hurt her and he wanted to believe it. But in all honestly, the vicious things Mike said about Michonne had hurt _Rick_. He found it hard to believe that they'd bounced off their intended target.

Michonne closed the space between them needing to feel him hold her in his arms. Those arms that were strong enough to reduce a man nearly equal his size to a battered ruin, were the same arms gentle enough to hold her when she cried. She needed to see if she felt _it_... her _worthiness_. She needed to hear his heart beat... and listen for her place there, searching for any whisper of a lie.

 _"...All this effort for a bitch that, obviously, nobody in their right mind wants."_

Only someone as damaged as her could want her. That's why it worked with her brothers and sister. They were all damaged. Maggie and Andrea loved her but they weren't making commitments to live with her day in and day out, forever.

Rick had said forever before he knew about her scars. The first day they met. She knew he was only flirting then, being smooth as mirrored glass, but since then he'd said it incessantly. And damned if he didn't have her saying it too. _We've got forever waiting._ It sounded so novel... and nostalgic at the same time. Because it was the kind of stuff she used to pretend someone would say to her one day. _And that's what this is, right?_ Michonne asked herself, _Pretend_.

" _...All this effort..."_

She wasn't sure what effort Mike was referring to beyond phone calls and lunch dates, but Rick had put in a lot of work for her. Listening to her and learning her. He'd walked on eggshells around her insecurities and tried his best to fill in the cracks.

He moved out of the house he owned, free and clear. A house he lived in for more than a decade. He accepted the longer commute... in the city traffic that he hates. Then he moved back out again, living out of a duffle bag for weeks, waiting for her to get herself together.

And now, what? _He's going to move back in again... until the next time I lose my shit?_ She was trying to be good but maybe her labors would never be good enough.

All this stuff she'd been putting him through. If she could have stomached the comparison, she might have said she was just as silly as Mike. _Rick deserves someone as easy to love as he is. If you really love him, shouldn't you let him go so he can find that?_ Maybe Mike _was_ all she deserved. She hoped that wasn't true. _But it sounds it right._ Mike wasn't dumb enough to leave out one of the biggest truths of his implications,

 _"I was ready to marry you. You think this white guy gonna do that with you? With your baggage?"_

 _You think this white guy gonna do that with you?_

 _...this white guy_...

His color didn't mean anything to her. That was Mike projecting his own crap. Still that set aside, Michonne imagined that if she tethered herself to him _forever_ , she'd have to listen to people ask the same question she wondered herself- why would someone as established and successful as Rick Grimes want to be involved with a broken person like her? What was she bringing to his life... except drama?

She stood there in his arms replaying things Rick was telling her to forget until she made herself uncomfortable enough to let him go. But Rick pulled her back, thinking that keeping physical contact with her might, somehow, help him gauge her feelings. Leaning forward, as those blue oceans tried to sweep her away, he dropped his lips to hers.

The silence in the space was peppered with sweet wet smacks as their lips connected and detached tenderly and repeatedly, giving Rick the opportunity to study her face after each kiss. He didn't know what she was thinking, but he could guess and he didn't like how tight-lipped she was being about Mike's malevolent comments.

He just wanted to make her feel loved. He wanted to make her understand that Mike Solomon was not a reliable source of information when it came to the heart of Rick Grimes.

The man whose job it was to know things, knew he loved the woman in his arms. He knew she was worth some struggle because he really believed nothing worth having is easy. His dad had branded that into his psyche since little league. He also knew his feelings for her were not something he could explain if he wanted to.

Daryl understood, though,

"She resurrected you, brother." he'd told Rick over a late-night whiskey buzz- Trigger's head laying in his lap. "She's beautiful and she got like... this brightness..." Seeing double, Daryl floated his fingers through the air like he was sprinkling star dust. "She got this thang that makes her diff'rent. She's pow'rful and vuln'rable at the same time. I get it." He hummed thirstily, swirling the ice in his rocks glass, "Mmhmm, believe me, man. I get it."

Rick had warned Daryl, playfully, not to "get it" too much. But his friend was right. Michonne had made Rick's eyes shine again. He'd rediscovered passion. He was more ambitious with his business because he wanted to take care of her and spoil her, in a way that he never wanted to with Lori, because Michonne never asked him to. She didn't expect him to.

He wanted to give her babies and spoil them too. He wanted to watch her grow as a mother, physically and emotionally. The 42-year-old father of a teenager was eating better and exercising more, trying to keep up with her. He was trying to live forever so he could see that smile forever and spend every night with her and be a part of all the things she'd never experienced in life: walking down the aisle, saying vows, first sonogram, first kick.

He and his best friend had argued, during his stay at the sad bachelor pad, over the selfishness involved in love. Daryl thought it was better to _want_ the person you love so, if they leave, you can just condition yourself to ignore the craving. He didn't subscribe to _needing_ someone anymore. He'd thought he needed Beth and that was a disaster.

But Rick figured you can't have one without the other and be happy like he was. "You gotta eat to live, but sick people don't _wanna eat_ and then... they get sicker and die." Rick slurred his words, deep in his cup. "Starvin' people wanna eat, but don't... you know... get what they _need_." He leaned forward in slow motion to rest his elbows on the table. Pushing his hair back, he held his swimming head in his palms. "I'm starvin' without her, man. I'm sick. I want'er so bad. I'm alive but I ain't livin'. I _can't_ live without her."

He told her as much now as he kissed her again and again, "I can't live without you 'Chonne."

He whispered across her cheek as his hands proceeded further down her breathless body. "I never felt nothin' like this in my life. Maybe I never wanted to feel it or maybe I never _could_ til I met you, baby. I don't know." He shook his head slowly over her lips, knowing that a full explanation always evaded his quiet thoughts. "I don't care 'bout figurin' it out. I just know I got everythang I want right here."

He rounded her backside with his palm. Dragging his determined grip over and under her ass, he cupped her cheek right above her thigh. He pushed the stretch of his fingers from the back of her, forward, between her legs. He traveled over the soft fabric of her pants and across the plumpness of the lips hidden there.

Michonne whimpered at the sensation of him greedily handling her. When he pulled her knee up to his hip, kissing her deeply and mounting her solidly against his long and forceful need of her- his hard and hellbent want of her- she moaned at the friction wearing away against her delicate knot of begging nerves. His arm was wrapped around her tight and pressing her to his body.

Rick brought his hand up from between her legs and lifted her chin with the tips of his fingers, raising her eyes to meet his before he kissed her again. "God, I love you so much."

Though Michonne loved him just as much, she couldn't stop hearing what Mike had said or what she'd been saying to herself. She pulled her arms up between them, pushing herself away from him, her voice breaking. Her face was a smiling mask with teary eyes as she made the excuse to run, "I... uh... We don't have anything for dinner. I'm gonna run to the store."

Confused by what she was saying, his face still too close to hers to read her expression, he chuckled, "What? Deanna just brought groceries this mornin'."

Michonne pulled back more and Rick chased her with his lips. She countered, "I just... I want make you something special... to celebrate that you're back."

"This is special." He said squeezing her ass in both hands and attacking her with another kiss through a devilish smile. "Don't worry 'bout dinner. I gotta work tonight anyway."

"Rick..." Michonne pulled back harder, jerking away. "Rick! Stop!"

He let her go. "Sorry." He could see her now. She was angry and scared. "What's wrong?"

"I just... I don't want to... right now." Michonne snapped and started off down the hall to get her shoes, "I'm going to the store."

He'd never seen anything- ANYTHING- override her libido: not her period, not their arguments, not their location.

"Okay." Rick acceded, taken aback and little sad to watch her walk away. "I'll come with you."

"That's okay." The scared and injured bird hollered back through the house, choking down tears as she slipped on her ankle boots and threw on her coat. She clacked back down the hall toward the exit at a hurried pace, flapping her wings furiously, trying to reach the sky outside. Rick never left his spot by the front door as he watched her dart back and forth, gathering up her things but forgetting her car keys. He held them out to her. "I want to walk." She declined them brusquely, pulled up on her toes and gave him a guilty goodbye kiss. "I'll be back in a bit."

Michonne walked into the elevator and immediately stopped up her ears with music. There was only one song she wanted to hear when she felt like this.

The lyrics were like narration for her pitiful attempts at love. Somehow it always alleviated the pain of being so flawed whenever she heard her heart being poured out over the echoing, marching beat.

Her thumb scrolled until she found "Heavy in Your Arms" by Florence and the Machine. The bruised little sparrow, bounced off the close walls of the elevator in a panic. Pacing and holding in her tears, she pressed play and sank into the steady knocking tone of the desperate ballad.

 **I was a heavy heart to carry  
My beloved was weighed down  
My arms around his neck  
My fingers laced a crown**

She remembered the face of her first love: his caramel complexion, bushy brows and cornrows.

Right out the gate, she did it all wrong. She was so needy. She suffocated the poor boy. She overreacted whenever he didn't call, afraid he was losing interest. Not knowing how to process her feelings, her fear made her angry. She clawed after him, trying to keep him. She made him out to be the best thing that ever happened to her, even though now, she couldn't remember a single thing he'd ever said to her. But back then, she feared losing him more than anything.

 **I was a heavy heart to carry  
My feet dragged across the ground  
And he took me to the river  
Where he slowly let me drown**

 **My love has concrete feet, my love's an iron ball  
Wrapped around your ankles, over the waterfall**

 **I'm so heavy. Heavy. Heavy in your arms.**

So, of course she lost him. But she learned a lesson and adapted. One heartbreak. That's all it took.  
She was nothing if not a quick study.

 **And is it worth the wait,  
All this killing time?  
Are you strong enough to stand,  
Protecting both your heart and mine?  
Who is the betrayer  
Who's the killer in the crowd?  
The one who creeps in corridors  
And doesn't make a sound**

But she adapted to become her own worst enemy. She learned that to protect her heart, she had to be ready to drop someone else's at a moment's notice. She'd abandon ship at the first sign of feelings or trouble. She was vicious with it and she felt no remorse.

 **I'm so heavy. Heavy. So heavy in your arms**

But that didn't make anything easier for her. She was a killer now, leaving hurt feelings, crushed hearts and bad karma in her wake. She got it all back in spades. By then, she'd learned that love is powerful. You don't say it unless you mean it and you don't accept it unless you've earned it. But she was too injured by love to do the heavy lifting. Michonne figured love was too much for her. It was sad to admit defeat but at least she'd save herself some battle scars.

 **This will be my last confession  
"I love you" never felt like any blessing**

She'd stopped saying 'I love you' to a significant other all together by the time she met Rick.

 **Whisper it like it's a secret  
Uttered to condemn the one who hears it  
With a heavy heart**

It only ever ended up giving _someone_ pain. She was too clever for that someone to be her. She forbid 'I love you'. Michonne was ready to just have fun, enjoy herself. Stop trying for what Sasha and Maggie found. But even with that abdication, she still felt...

 **Heavy. Heavy. Heavy.**

She felt heavy until she met Rick. Until she made him smile. Until he studied her with that mystified look. Until he presented her to his mother, his brother, to Carl, Carol and Daryl like she was Venus emerging from a seashell. Until he made everybody in her life love him. With Rick, she felt lighter.

She wasn't though. She had the same issues- the same baggage that Mike was happy enough to point out- only Rick was trying to help her unpack it- all her mess... right in the middle of the immaculate life he'd worked so hard to have.

 **I was a heavy heart to carry  
But he never let me down  
When he held me in his arms  
My feet never touched the ground**

Because he loved her.

Playing the same song on repeat and lost in her reflections she had made it to the grocery store without even realizing it. She hadn't felt one gust of wind on that frosty November day. She hadn't seen one person in the busy streets or given a solitary thought to her actual place in space or time until she found herself near the bakery section staring at the croissants.

She was coming out of her haze, coming back to the present.

What she needed right now was a pep talk.

Normally, it would have been Maggie she'd turn to, but Maggie grew up in a house full of love. Michonne needed someone who knew how childhood abandonment plagued you like cancer, seeming to go into remission until it metastasizes and shows up randomly to ruin everything you're living for. She could have called Sasha but- aside from her sister having all the warmth and delicacy of a snow plow- telling Sasha what Mike had said could trigger her as much as it did Michonne. And Shane wasn't even an option. He didn't even have any of the control that Rick had lost. But why call them anyway when she had Tyreese?

Tyreese was miracle. He shouldn't even be alive on the planet, except it seems he has a true purpose on this big floating rock. He was born addicted to meth. A preemie, he barely weighed three pounds. That's hard to believe to look at him now. In fact, if you didn't know he had a learning disability and severe clinical depression, you'd think he was born on Mt. Olympus or at least with a silver spoon in his mouth.

If you had known him when he was eighteen and saw him struggle through the simplest things in life, you wouldn't believe that he could've completed a biology/psychology double major, graduated with honors and had his pick of the top hospitals in the region to complete his residency. But he did and if all that wasn't impressive enough, Dr. Tyreese Williams wraps you in the kind of bear hugs that squeeze lemons into lemonade.

For the preservation of their shared masculinity, Shane refused to call him anything but Ty. Owing to his warm affection, however, Sasha and Michonne called him,

"Big Blankey..." Michonne squeaked, perking just a little from his bass-filled hello.

"Hey, Mimi." The bear of a man responded and, assuming her call was regarding Sasha's upcoming baby shower, he quickly announced his continued support, "I didn't forget."

"Forget what?"

"That I'm supposed to get the boys tomorrow so you and Sasha can make plans in peace... by the way she texted me this morning, told me Rick is back home. That's good news."

"Yeah. It is."

"I was never worried about you guys working it out."

"Well, that makes one of us." Michonne chuckled dryly.

"I told you that good old boy... he's a game changer." She could hear his happy smile through the phone and she couldn't help her melancholy from breaking just a little more. "I'll just stockpile the rest of my I-told-you-so's, for now." He teased her. "What's up, though?"

"Well, it's kinda Rick-related." She paused. "You're not busy, are you?"

"Nah. As a matter of fact, I'm about to leave the office, go home and meditate through the night... find some zen before I have to get those red-headed hooligans." He laughed as he put up the files of his a.m. patients.

"At least you have Noah to help you."

"I don't. He got that job, remember." The well-dressed man said proudly of his son. One orphan had adopted another and with Tyreese's love and care, Noah was growing into a responsible, fine young man.

"Oh! Yep! That's right. How's he like it?"

"So far, so good." Tyreese nodded as he grabbed his coat. "He said he's saving up for Christmas presents..."

"That's what's up! Make sure you tell him auntie loves Louboutin." Michonne playfully put in her bid.

"Uhhh, Wal-Mart ain't paying the kid that kinda money..." They both laughed together. "But I will help him pick something nice..." His laughter died down, "So... What's this Rick-related matter?"

She had been on the line with him less than two minutes but hearing him happy and excited about his family- which was also her family- was nudging her, slowly but surely, to a more positive place. Instead of actually discussing the whole thing with Mike, Michonne decided to get right to the bottom of her fears, "Do you believe in karma?"

Tyreese chuckled, "Okay... random." He paused to think as he slid into his Cadillac sedan. "I guess I'm not getting any background information as to my potential answer's relevance?"

" _Mimi_ is worried about karma." She said with a hint of sad sarcasm. "You can't guess?"

"Aw, come on, Mimi... why do you always expect things to fall apart?" He heard her scoff at his seemingly naïve question, so he elaborated, "I mean... yes... growing up things tended to be unstable. But growing up, we didn't have any control over what happened in our lives. Now we do... not total control, but enough to make our lives the way we want them to be."

"True." she said, absorbing his words as she pushed her cart through the supermarket. "But you didn't answer my question, Dr. Blankey." she grinned at the pairing of his professional title and his adorable nickname and enunciated her question, "Do you believe in karma?"

"Okay... Let's say I _don't_ believe in karma..." he began a delicate answer, "...then you're free to pursue happiness and expect that you're just as entitled to it as anyone else.

"And if you _do_?"

"And if I do..." he sighed, "If I do, Mimi, the same thing is true. Look, out of the three of us, who went to visit Shane the _whole_ time he was locked up."

Michonne shrugged as she inspected a few bundled stalks of asparagus, "That's because Sasha had the kids and you were finishing up school and starting your practice..."

"You were starting your business, too." he acknowledged. "And who did Sasha turn to when she got pregnant a few months before boot camp, scared to death of disappointing Morgan and thinking her whole life was over?"

"She told you about that?"

Michonne could still see Sasha's face as she laid with her feet in the stirrups. The tears were streaming down her cheeks that day. Michonne had held her hand through the whole procedure even though she'd tried to talk her out of it. But once Sasha made her decision, her little sister wouldn't let her go through that alone.

"She just told me about it recently. I had no idea." Tyreese confessed. "I was buried so deep in my depression... I don't even have to say how you saved me...

"No, you don't." she said modestly, not wanting anymore thanks for that day. A day when she was more afraid than she'd ever been in her life.

Michonne had left to go to a party on campus with Andrea but she knew Tyreese had been in bad shape for days: not leaving his room or even the bed. His Mimi changed her mind about the party and went back to find Tyreese in the house alone and with barely a pulse after swallowing a half bottle of Valium. He was overwhelmed with school and work and was feeling so isolated, he just wanted to stay in the dark forever. If it wasn't for Michonne, he would have.

Tyreese barreled over her dismissal of her own compassion, courage and kindness and answered her question- the one she was asking, without asking. "You're gonna be okay, Mimi. Life owes you some good stuff." He chuckled out a promise as he started his car, "There is no Boogeyman coming to get you... and even if there is, your boyfriend would have him in a headlock before he could even breathe on you."

Tyreese had no idea how his words had proved true that very day. Michonne's heart beat a little faster as the image of Mike's knees buckling from the force of a single hit from Rick came back to her mind. "Yes. You ain't never lied!" she agreed.

"Ok. I'mma get ready to get up outta here. You, okay?"

"Yeah. I'm okay."

"Alright, I'll put your bill in the mail." Tyreese joked through his beard.

"You're worth every penny, Doc. Love you."

"Love you too, Mimi. Talk to you later."

Michonne finished up at the store now eager to get back to Rick. The same tune played from the music app on her phone but she was hearing the words differently.

Her betrayer was her fear- the killer in the crowd that said she didn't deserve that kind of love. The words 'I love you' had never felt like a blessing because they never came from a man strong enough to protect both their hearts. She was seeing how such a thing could be done. As a novice in all things love, she was still quick as ever to adapt.

 _Maybe karma takes your intent into account_ , she reasoned to herself. It could've been karma that landed Shane in jail, but it had been a blessing in disguise. He got clean and they got their brother back. _Maybe karma isn't something to fear_.

She regretted her decision to walk on her return trip as she juggled her burdensome grocery totes the blocks back home. When she entered the apartment, she could tell right away Rick wasn't there. It always amazed her how she could feel his presence in the house. For weeks, she was so acutely aware that he wasn't there and it gave her a hollow ache in the pit of her stomach whenever she crossed the threshold. This time, though, she didn't get that feeling.

The reason was communicated in his note on the fridge. His chicken-scratch scribbles, a far cry from her rounded cursive flourishes, always made her smile.

He could tell she obviously wanted a little space when she left, so not wanting to disturb her on her phone, he informed her-

 _At the gym, love you._

She dumped the frozen shrimp she brought for dinner in a bowl of water to thaw, changed into her orange and white oversized dashiki shirt and made her way downstairs to the building's gym room. In the early afternoon, it was deserted except for him, shirtless, doing chin-ups on the pull up bar. She watched him through the vertical window in the door. It was a moistening sight.

She could tell from the speed of his reps that he was still pretty pissed. His lips snarled as his muscles rolled, working hard under his skin each time he brought his chin well over the bar. She didn't know how many sets he had done but he looked like he could've went on forever.

Though the entire far wall was mirrored, Rick's determined steely eyes ignored his reflection. He stared off into space, contemplating his dissatisfaction with only breaking Mike's nose. He regretted letting him utter one syllable that made his baby feel, in any way, small.

His shorts hung low on his streamlined waist giving a perfect view to the v-cut of his torso. With every straining ascension, the veins in his abdomen became even more observable under the thin trail of soft dark hair that started at his navel and disappeared into paradise.

The brown-eyed voyeur ogled him shamelessly as he exerted himself of his own accord, focused fiercely on control- something Michonne could never master. Where his response was always measured, her behavior was usually _excessive_. Even when he crumpled Mike like a piece of scrap paper, Rick had barely flinched. She wished she could learn the ways of his jedi-like mind... but not right now. Right now, she was coming to him to lose control.

He let himself down from the overhead bar and grabbed his towel, passing it over his glistening face, his wringing mane and his expanding hair-speckled chest. He tossed the towel beside the workout bench, took a reclining seat and started his leg lifts against the gravity of the weighted plates.

As Michonne watched, the sweetness between her legs dripped for him. Unwilling to leave his strength and stamina to the cold gym equipment around him, she quietly entered the room and turned the latch to lock the door behind her. His view of the door was slightly obstructed by the machinery and he didn't see her until she stood in front of him.

Catching sight of her, he immediately reached for his towel to wipe the sweat out of his squinting eyes for a clear picture of the stunning, burnished vision standing on a sultry lean in front of him. She was wearing the perfect pout on her lips and the puffiness in her eyes from her earlier tears reminded him of the comfort he had wanted to give her, the comfort he knew she'd finally come to get.

"Good walk?" He asked her, gripping the bench through the strain of a leg lift.

"Cold walk."

He nodded with a hint of irritation and cut his eyes to her, "You better not get sick." She not-so-secretly reveled in his care and concern, while rolling her eyes, pretending to bristle at the warning. "So you got all the ingredients for my 'extra-special-sex-can-wait-welcome-home' dinner?" Rick asked sarcastically and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees after finishing up his set of leg extensions.

Michonne snatched up his towel and in answer to his mocking question, threw it over his head tousling it back and forth over his crazy wet curls. "Yes. I. Did." She rubbed his head aggressively.

The man in her hands smiled from under the thick white cotton at her playfulness, happy to have his woman back to her old self. He was somewhat disappointed that she had to leave to settle her mind, but he understood they were still a work in progress. "So, you're all good now?"

"Not yet." She gave assurance and threw a leg over him and the workout bench, still standing above him and placed her hands on his shoulders. With her brow cocked, she pushed him back against the cushioned back rest.

"Not yet, huh?" He repeated in a savvy voice with a certain steady, turquoise gaze as he sailed the pads of his fingers up her thigh from her weakening knees.

Up and down.

His fingers, though warm, sent a shiver through her that stemmed from a place far deeper than his hand could touch.

Up and down.

Giving him her undivided attention, she tumbled deeper in love with the anatomy of his face: the crease of his forehead as he peered up at her in adoration, the fine brown wisps of his eyebrows curving in a thick arch above his nearly golden lashes, the ridge of his nose that so often finds her clit whenever he drops his tongue inside her like bait, brining out the fiend inside her and his lips- his bottom lip more precisely- sitting rosy in his wolf-like garden of gray.

Up and down. Hypnotically.

Her breath hitched whenever one of his trimmed nails snagged against her skin, changing the sensation slightly.

Up and down.

Her mind was willing him to go just a little further up so she could witness his expression when he arrived at the surprise of her wetness... without her panties.

"So, I guess that's my cue?" he asked her with a knowing smirk.

She smiled, suddenly shy from that familiar look. The hungry little flirt nodded her head and confirmed that there was a little more she needed from him, though she was grateful for all he'd already had done.

"C'mere." Rick commanded, catching her by her hips, he sat her down with her knees over each of his thighs. He didn't waste one second, wrapping his hand around the nape of her neck, bringing her full lips to his and biting into them softly- so softly Michonne's skin vibrated at such a mighty but mild fraction of his allure. His arms used all their strength gathering her up tightly against his damp chest, while his kisses stayed sweet.

"Rick," His name danced off her lips like a striptease. "I need you inside me." she spoke into the air as his tongue and the coarseness of his beard moved deliberately down her neck. She repeated more emphatically, "Rick. I need you inside me." Her hands took stock of his strong muscled back while she waited impatiently for him to acknowledge her request. His mouth caught, captured and closed over hers again and again. She moaned with his tongue spiraling, laggardly, in time with her own.

Being so arrested by Mike's words, Rick had been out of focus in her picture of the earlier incident. He was there, but blurry in her mind. After her talk with Tyreese, her poker-faced titan became the main feature in her memory of that afternoon. She was reclaiming her lightness after letting her alpha off his leash. Michonne wasn't letting Mike interrupt or invade another thing in her life. Letting him occupy her mind for the last couple of hours was already time wasted.

She knew that walking out to get a handle on her emotions had left Rick all alone with his. He'd done everything he could to protect her. All he wanted was for her to compare the insignificance of the pain Mike gave her, with the love he had for her. Now, she was eager to examine that contrast from every angle.

She grabbed his face in both her palms, disconnecting his mouth from her skin. "Rick!" His eyes took her in, "Make love to me. I need you inside me." Michonne cased his eyes and saw the volcanic eruptions behind the crystal stare.

"Alright." nodding with his eyes dropping back to her lips, "Let's get outta here." he whispered huskily. Ready to go, he sat up and tapped her butt to rouse her. But Michonne pushed him back to recline.

"No. Right here."

She brought him thick and hot from his shorts. Her hand wrapped around his length, she teased him just barely grazing his smooth pulsing shaft. Michonne passed her thumb over the seeping opening of its sensitive tip, making Rick groan incoherently. He slipped his hands over her thighs and under the short hem of her shirt. Like a kid finding hidden Christmas presents, he gave her the look she'd been waiting for when his palms reached her ass and felt nothing but unobstructed gratification.

"Fuck." he closed his eyes and cursed in sordid thanks. As much as he loved the plethora of patterns, fabrics and styles of her panty sets, there was something about what he called 'free-range Michonne' that made his blood torpedo through his veins. His cock grew even harder in her hand, his eyes lit up but he otherwise kept himself composed. "You're ready for me, huh?" Rick spoke with a flinty tone and Michonne smiled in confirmation, happy to please him.

He pulled her closer as she docked him snugly inside her tight wet canal. The fact that she was not only willing, but _wanted_ to do this here was no surprise to Rick. He watched through the window as people milled about the large corridor of the bustling ground floor. Residents went about their day: rushing out to their UBERs, taking their pampered dogs out to pee, text-walking and too much in a general rush to notice the erotic exercise in the communal weight room.

This was something Lori would have never done. It was something a man who loved peace, quiet and privacy would have never expected to savor. Yet, every time, he found himself appreciating his naughty girl taking his full girth and the stimulating sounds she made, loud enough for anyone else to hear.

"Fuck" he said again in a balanced contralto right before he melted into her bra-less breasts.

Michonne leaned back, palms flat on the bench, placing the soles of her feet on a structural metal bar attached to the backrest. Pushing off with her feet she moved back and forth over his length at a lazy pace that drove Rick insane.

"Mmm, daddy. You feel so... mmm..." Her eyes were closed tight and soon the tip of her tongue peeked from the wedge of her tightly drawn lips.

He stretched her stingy walls, so good, Michonne purred like spoiled kitten. Swirling her hips, dipping and curling on his rock-hard circumference, Rick watched her enjoy the hell out of his dick as her moans picked up in frequency and pitch.

The man she was giving her forever to felt her stiffen when his hands found the globes of her breasts and squeezed lightly, remembering her discomfort from earlier. He assumed she was about to get her period (even though it was little off schedule by his calculations).

"Yes, Rick…" Michonne encouraged him when he lifted her shirt, exposing most of her gorgeous ebony frame, and clenched her tight nipples between his teeth with just the right amount of pressure to make her whine through a moan, "Oh, shit, daddy!"

"C'mon let daddy fuck you, baby." He said bringing her ankles to his shoulders.

"Shit." Michonne breathed, his words stirring her reactions as much as his touch.

"C'mon." he repeated as she obeyed, leaning back on her elbows now as Rick rose and moved over her, taking the lead. The pace he set was much different from the easy momentum she'd orchestrated. He dove into her and fucked her like he said he would. Michonne could hardly catch her breath as he came crashing forcefully like waves on the reef of her body then receded slowly, only to come back harder than before. "I love you so much, baby." he said, taking in her beauty. "Look at you. Fuck," he whispered to himself. "Look at you."

With a straining cry, her climax came stampeding through her like a thousand horses. Rick lasted only a minute longer. His face relaxed on his release as he let her feet fall back to the floor. He was unaware that her legs were like gelatin and as they fell from their perch, heavy as lead, Michonne lost her balance on the narrow bench and let out a startled yelp.

"Oh shit, Michonne!" Rick scrambled to keep her from falling the short distance to the floor and spit out a chuckle at her drunken movements. Her panicked face suddenly shifted to amusement as she sat up straight and filled the room with throaty laughter. "Damn, you okay?" He questioned through his snicker and she nodded, still giggling. Rick filled his palms with the spread of her ass, making himself smile and her thickness jiggle. "Please be careful with all this good junk in ya trunk." He drawled like a professional hick and waited wickedly for his choice of words to irk her nerves.

Michonne knew he'd said it to see her cringe. She tried to ignore it, but she couldn't. She responded with an epic eye roll and a sulky, deep breath. "Oh my god!" she clasped her hands together and begged him, "Rick, please, please, please..." she implored him, "do not say junk in the trunk!"

He snorted a laugh at her irritation and doubled down playfully with a kiss, "But you're so _junk in the trunk-y_ , 'Chonne."

* * *

 **A/N: Y'all know I did NOT forget about that box of tampons. LOL** **Even though we're on chapter 11, this is still technically Rick's first day back home and Michonne is focused on collecting her "late fees". Rick is focused on 'fixing his credit' with her ;) and he gon' be paid in full by the weekend at this rate.**

 **We got baby showers, holidays, flashbacks to first dates and _first_ _times_ , etc., etc. coming up. Thanks for coming along on the ride, we got a lot of stops to make before we get to that Richonne _forever_!**

 **-comewithnattah**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey! hey! hey! to all my beautiful beloved readers!**

 **I had to do this in two parts because I was having too much fun and got carried away. :) I was rockin', listening to the songs I added and just having a great time with Richonne on this first date. I hope y'all have as much fun as I did!**

 **-comewithnattah**

* * *

 **First Date- Part One**

Carl watched his dad from his familiar spot in the living room. He regarded his old man curiously with the indication of a rare but legitimate smile imminent on his lips; lips almost identical to the older Grimes. Carl was equal parts shocked, proud and intrigued by his dad's behavior. The 14-year-old sat with his game controller in his hand wondering if he'd ever seen this man, he'd known literally all his life, act this way.

Rick was making a repeated circuit of the kitchen as he made dinner for three. He grabbed the butter from the fridge, a spatula from the drawer and slapped a pat into the heated pan on the stove. He raised his voice a little over the sizzle, continuing his conversation on the phone. Carl would normally be 100% preoccupied with finding ammo and fighting aliens while he waited for dinner. But the conversation he was spying on was better than unlocking any achievement in his game.

About a week ago, his dad had come clean about the fact that he'd ' _met someone_ ', as he called it, when Carl overheard his father's best friend teasing him about some woman. Daryl called her 'Little Red' (because of her dress when he first saw her). Carl had interrogated his father mercilessly until Rick threw him that meatless bone- "I met someone"- which was hardly any information at all. Carl was even more fascinated with this _someone_ when Daryl implied that she was too pretty for a guy with graying hair and too young for a guy who saw Bon Jovi the last time he went to a concert.

Now, when Carl rode with his dad, the oldies station was replaced with music from Rick's brand-new Spotify account. Instead of oldies, R&B and hip hop blasted from his dad's cobalt blue Suburban whenever he picked him up. Music that his son decided he should know nothing about. Rick was using slang that his son was sure no one in his circle would say. The other day, for instance, when he was explaining to his father some injustice at school, Rick had agreed by saying, "Oh, I'm woke, son." Carl's face had twisted in befuddlement at that statement. The only explanation was 'Little Red'... or Michonne, as Carl had ascertained from other conversations he'd tapped.

"Daryl's coming." His father's voice came from the kitchen in a lively tone that Carl was becoming familiar with whenever he was on the phone with the mysterious 'Little Red'. "He invites himself over, 'specially when I got Carl here. They like to kill stuff t'gether in outer space." the 8th grader listened even more closely when he heard his name. _She knows about me,_ he thought to himself.

'Little Red' was saying something and his father literally blushed. Carl looked suspiciously as his father grinned and changed colors. "Yeah, that would be nice. You know I wouldn't mind. I tol' you- anythang you need." he responded to whatever the woman suggested. "It's just lem'n chicken, spinach and pasta alfredo."

Carl was happy with that menu but also surprised that his dad was taking the time to cook an actual meal instead of making Hamburger Helper or ordering take out. He wondered if that had anything to do with 'Little Red' too.

Carl really wished he could hear what she was saying. But it was a good thing he couldn't. When Michonne talked to Rick, it was never a kid-friendly conversation.

"I had a dream about you last night." Michonne confessed.

"A good one?"

"I guess you could say it was good..." she let out a tired, restless sigh. "I don't know."

"Why don't you know?"

"It was good until I woke up." She explained on a sultry tone. "I mean, if someone fixes your favorite food but you don't get to actually eat it, can you say it was good?" She questioned him introspectively.

Rick chuckled. "I see. Like a 'if a tree falls in the woods and no one's there to hear it' kinda thang?"

Nine times out of ten, Michonne was complaining about not 'getting any' since she'd met him and how impossibly horny she got thinking about him. "Sorta..." She said dubitably, "But it's more like... if my panties are soaking wet and you're not here to dive in" kinda thang." She imitated his accent, wickedly.

"Michonne..." Rick whispered, with a growl, in a reprimanding tone. _This woman's mouth..._ His cock stiffened and he looked back at Carl, suddenly hyper-aware of his son's presence a few feet away. Carl's eyes darted back to the game. "You're so fuckin' bad..." Rick spoke even more softly and shook his head.

She didn't let up. "Well, I'm not saying I need a spanking... but _no_ spankings is definitely making me worse."

"Well, you're the one who suggested we take it slow." She whimpered at that truth- this was self-made misery. "And I still think it's a good idea. I'm havin' fun just gettin' to know you... I think _you_ like it, too." Rick revealed a conclusion he'd come to after knowing her for a few weeks. "I think you like to whine about thangs 'cause you know I like to try and make it better." He called her out as he threw his chicken thighs in the pan.

Michonne grinned quietly at his bulls-eyed assertion. This was why she thought _maybe_ she could last the three months Maggie suggested and _maybe_ even the six months Andrea bet her- because every time Rick Grimes explained her to herself, it was like making love telepathically. He was all in her head and she loved it. She wouldn't admit it to him, though. As much as he did it, she knew _he_ knew anyway.

"But I really want to see you!" she whined.

"I wanna see you too, you have no idea." Rick breathed out an almost painful sigh. "Sorry our schedules are so opposite right now."

Things had been grueling for them both at work. Both of their jobs ramped up with the warmer weather breeding so many events. Rick worked primarily nights and weekends, while Michonne worked into the evening most days, like she was doing at that very moment, sitting at her desk in a mostly empty building. And when he wasn't working, he had Carl a little more than usual because his ex-wife's sister was recuperating from a surgery and Lori was helping her out with her kids.

Rick and Michonne stole a few moments here and there, though. She would show up to an event he was working and pull him away for as long as his team could spare him. He would stop by her office bearing gifts and get teased mercilessly by Maggie and Andrea. Well, mainly Andrea would tease him. Maggie would just smile and remind them that "waitin' works".

It wasn't really sex Michonne was missing, it was just being around him and he was in the same boat when it came to her.

"Screw work." Michonne said throwing her hand up carelessly. "I'll ditch, if you will."

"Thought you had to be there?" Rick asked, wondering if she was serious. He knew how meticulous she was about getting her aesthetic just right.

"I'm wearing myself out trying to be in too many places at once when there's only one place I want to be anyway." Michonne determined. "I think I just need a quick Rick fix... okay... maybe not so quick..." she revised. "We haven't even been on a real date yet!"

Rick laughed at her adorable impatience. "Okay. You don't have to convince me." he swore. "When?

"Oh," she breathed out decadently, "Asap... pleeeeeeease."

Rick felt his dick jump at hearing her beg. He wanted to re-create that sound as much as possible, he decided right then. And he devilishly figured that would be easy to do knowing she was in the middle of a chastity bet. He grinned even harder at his thoughts. "Okay. Gimme a couple days, baby. This'll technically be our first date. Can't just be a cliché dinner."

"It better not be..."

"Okay..." He groaned playfully, "... a little pressure."

"Pressure? I need to find an outfit for my first date with the mythical Rick Grimes..." She raised her pitch, "That's pressure."

Rick's dimples dented his cheeks, flattered, "Just wear that red dress again." he suggested, "You could throw away all your clothes and just wear that red dress every day..." He laughed, but he was serious.

Michonne blushed, well-hidden by her coffee-colored skin. She was sick of that dress after wearing it only once. "No, babe. It has to be something I bought just for you."

After a few more whispered teases, they hung up reluctantly so Michonne could finish what she was working on and get out of the office, at Rick's insistence, before it got too dark. When they finally said their goodbyes, Carl came in the kitchen, no longer able to pretend that he wasn't all up in grown folks' business.

"Look dad," He said more excitedly than he'd meant to, "this could be your first date." He took his animated voice down a decibel or two. "She's kinda like an artist, right? She'll like to paint."

Rick ignored the paper Carl was pushing under his nose, across the small kitchen island. "You're listenin' to my conversation now?" Before Carl could lie with a 'no, sir', Rick asked, "Wait, why do you think she's an artist?"

"I googled her." Rick's only child shrugged. "I think there's probably only one Michonne in the world." Rick definitely agreed with that. Even if another woman, somewhere, shared her name, she'd still be the only Michonne in the world. Carl continued, "Uncle Daryl was right. She's really pretty."

Rick had never thought to seek out a back door into her life. Finding dirt on people, their secrets, could be a big part of his job sometimes. Often, that mindset followed him outside of work, too. But he never once thought to look into Michonne that way. He was having too much fun catching the tidbits that she'd let slip in conversation. He was basking in the privilege of gaining her trust and being cleared for entry into new corners and higher levels of her being. He didn't feel the need to dig into her life. But Carl, thinking like his daddy would've, found a way to get around Rick's hushed notion toward this new romance.

Rick honestly couldn't say why he hadn't introduced her to Carl yet. His official reason was that it was still too early in the relationship. He didn't know for sure where this whole thing with Michonne was going. He knew where he wanted it to go but, as he was well aware, things don't always work out. He'd be devastated if they broke up and he didn't want Carl to get attached and then lose her too. Michonne was like sugar- sweet and addictive... and withdrawals are painful. But more precisely, Michonne was like a drug- captivating and self-serving. And he just didn't want to share her with anyone yet. He was being greedy with her, plain and simple.

But, even though he played it off as unconcerned, Carl was dying to meet her. He was already a little obsessed with Michonne seeing the effect she had on his dad. Sometimes he could hear her voice when she laughed loudly on the phone. At first, he found the sound jarring. It was so different from his mother's soft, demure chortles. But soon enough, he found himself laughing a little when he heard it blaring from his father's phone.

Sometimes he'd interrupt his dad when Rick was on a video call with Michonne. Carl would make up an urgent question just to get a glance at her on the screen. She was always smiling. His dad was always smiling and inevitably, though Carl had no idea what they were discussing, he was smiling too. The few times he'd infringed on their conversation, Michonne had apologized for hogging the time Rick could've been spending with his son. She would tell him to call her later and he and his son would pretend that it was okay that she'd bowed out. But with the end of the call they both felt like they'd dropped their ice cream on the sidewalk.

That was when Carl decided to be a little detective and snoop through the internet to learn a little... a lot more about her. Almost too easily, he found her Twitter, YES M.A.M.'s company website, her Instagram and Snapchat. None of her accounts were private, so he had a field day looking backwards through her life. He saw pictures and videos from the Future concert, Mike's Party, her last birthday party. Everything was there for his perusal, from her New Year's celebrations, to her last Christmas, to her Thanksgiving.

He knew her best friends were Andrea and Maggie. He saw pictures of her, Morgan and Tyreese with Noah in his band uniform. He saw how happy she was the day they went to pick Shane up from prison. All the people in the picture were smiling bright except the one white guy, who seemed a little shy of the camera. Carl was a little confused by the caption- "Big Brother is finally home!"- since it was obvious that Shane couldn't be her brother. That was another mystery he tried to solve but never got any closer to an answer.

He met Sasha, Abraham and her little nephews, A.J., Ali and Duke by way of pictures of the previous Halloween. He nearly choked on his cereal when he saw her in the most lifelike zombie makeup he'd ever seen. "Gross!" he whispered to himself, scrolling his phone. She looked disgusting and he was impressed. He read her Twitter rants about Superman vs. Batman. She was into D.C., Marvel, Star Wars, X-Men and anime. She was a total geek and he loved it.

At almost every party in her galleries, he saw her with the same guy. Young, black and, in his estimation much, cooler than his dad. Her Snapchat stories showed her complaining comically about being "as late as a Trump apology" or being "as tired as Lil' Kim's plastic surgeon" or being "hungry enough to try Drea's vegan cheeseburger". She was an expert at using the filters and Carl found himself laughing out loud at her crazy shenanigans. He couldn't believe that THIS was the woman his father was with now. It was beyond amazing to him and he was determined to help his father keep Michonne interested so _he_ could eventually meet her officially.

"You googled her?" Rick asked shocked... but then not really.

"Dad, is this really your girlfriend?" Carl asked him skeptically, with narrowed eyes.

Rick chuckled at his son's disbelief and at first, he thought about not revealing anything more but his pride was a little hurt. So, he confirmed, "Yeah. She's _really_ my girlfriend." He swelled his chest. "Why? You don't think I could get a girl like her?"

"No offense dad, but you're old. This girl seems pretty young."

"She's only seven years younger than me!"

"Maybe, but she seems like a lot of fun and you don't like to do nothin' but work. I just don't want you to end up like Uncle Daryl when his girlfriend went to Mexico." The young man, who had yet to have a girlfriend, put his hand on his father's shoulder in support. "Those young girls will break your heart."

"Oh, they will, huh?" Rick raised his eyebrow at his son, stifling laughter.

"Yeah. So, you gotta bring your A-game, dad. You can't just take her out to dinner." Carl rolled his eyes, unimpressed. "That's borin'."

Rick left the condescending point he was about to make on his son's inexperience. Instead, he agreed with his assessment, "I know. That's what I said." He left his spinach in the pan and turned eagerly to Carl's suggestion. The monthly event calendar from the rec center where he taught his self-defense class was in his son's hand. Carl was pointing to a Saturday night paint and sip to be held in the Arts Room.

"This'll be diff'rent. I bet no other guy ever took her to nothin' like this." Rick's unpracticed advisor proclaimed. "And you guys can take home a souvenir from your first date and keep it forever."

Rick's brow cocked again over a crooked smile at the mention of forever from his son. "Yeah. That'da be nice." He agreed, "That'da be real nice. She don't drink, but I think she'll like that."

"She will. Trust me dad." Carl stood tall, slowly but surely gaining on his father's height. Rick nodded as he dried his hands with the dish towel thrown over his shoulder and picked up the paper placing it under a magnet on the fridge.

* * *

Rick had been watching the entrance to the rec center parking lot like a hawk, anticipating her arrival. It was no surprise that she was running late, fortunately the metal bench outside the building was a comfortable spot to wait on a mild spring evening. On his way to this official first date, "Skin" by Mac Miller was on repeat. The indoctrination of his favorite lines- **I lick my fingertips and get your clitoris in the mix/** **My dick on business trips** **/** **My tongue twistin' is ticklin' just a little bit/I'm swimmin' inside of your skin like a river** **/** **In the Caribbean-** had him in a feral mood.

In Rick's opinion, this new love of music that he used to think of as mindless garbage, was a testament to Michonne's powerful effect on him. And he found that all the filthy lyrics described, quite precisely, his thoughts about the vixen of a woman who had no reservations in making known her most base desires.

He sat singing the bridge in an undertone-

 **It's okay that you like it babe/And it's alright that you misbehave/It's okay to be this way-** when he saw Black Panther round the corner and come to a stop in the space next to his truck, he couldn't help his face from pulling into an unshakable smile. He bit at his lip to mask it as much as he could. But his smile gave way to a slacked-jawed, wide-eyed gaze when she stepped out of her car.

He'd told her plainly that they were going to a painting workshop of sorts. He wanted to surprise her but she told him she needed to know what they'd be doing so she could dress appropriately. In the back of his mind, he'd warned himself that she wouldn't be appropriate. She'd be Michonne. She'd be _excessive._ But he couldn't have imagined...

"Son 'uva bitch." he muttered to himself, obscenely, as his eyes did a holy pilgrimage across her body. It wasn't the outfit, per se, that brought the final request of the Lord's Prayer to mind-

 _Lead us not into temptation... but deliver... her... right into my hands-_

It wasn't the clothes, it was the way her curves bullied the fabric.

Her dreads were twisted like a halo from one temple, across her crown, to the other and gathered behind her ear into a ponytail that laid over her shoulder. The stretch bandage strips of her jumpsuit criss-crossed her breasts, over her neck, and left the sexy carriage of her abdomen exposed. A silvery nude color, the tight material glowed angelically against her chocolaty skin. The legs of the jumpsuit tapered at the ankle. And the whole ensemble advertised the rudeness of her ass, her craze-inducing thighs and her perfectly proportioned calves. Her suede heels were almost a perfect match in shade to her clothes and Rick wondered how she walked so effortlessly in such dangerous looking footwear.

Before he could shake his awe of her, Michonne leaned in to greet him with a hug and an innocent peck on his freshly shaven cheek. "I've never seen your face like that before." She looked him up and down in his gray and blue button-down shirt. With his sleeves folded up to his elbows, his forearm flexed illicitly when he reached for her hand. Every stitch of his clothing, from his light cotton shirt to his slim fit jeans, looked to be concealing contraband. "You look like a little boy. You're so pretty." she teased him and he blushed, rubbing his hand over the bareness of his face. He wished he had his beard to hide his reaction to her compliment.

"Then I'm glad it'll grow back in in a couple days."

"I feel like a cougar now." Michonne purred as she ran her fingers along his smooth, strong jawline. "I feel like maybe I should take advantage of you, young man."

He pulled her hand to his mouth and bit her fingers hard enough to make her scream. "Be good, Little Red." he warned her as her hysterics turned to giggles. "Or the Big Bad Wolf will eat you up."

"Promise?" she asked looking to him wickedly, causing her new boyfriend to clench his teeth and keep his eyes straight ahead as much as he could for her safety.

Rick held the door for Michonne to enter the community center. Heading up the wide brightly lit staircase, he led the way, still holding her hand. She raised her eyes slightly to count how many more steps she had to climb in her heels, when she caught him staring with a contemplative expression.

"What?" She asked, a little concerned at his serious appearance.

"Nothin'." He turned back around. But, honestly, Rick was beating back the beast inside him. He was pissed in a way that made him want to bend her over the railing and make her voice echo his name off the beige walls around them. He couldn't believe her audacity- agreeing to _months_ of abstinence- then showing up in what made that red dress look like a nun's habit. "You're just gorgeous... and I'm this close to swallowing my own tongue." He pinched the thumb and index finger on his free hand in front of her face.

"It's all for you." her hips swayed from side to side behind him and she saw his dimple again from the side of his face. "But don't swallow your tongue... let me do it for you."

He pulled her up to the landing with him, swinging her around to brace her petite frame against his hard body and kissed her lustfully with his hand traveling further down her backside than he'd ever ventured. Michonne took note of his newfound aggression and giggled against his lips. Rick lifted his head from their kiss and looked at her devilish mug, "You're gonna lose your bet, Michonne." He warned her, his words rumbling from his throat like the engine on a muscle car. His blue eyes flashed and he reiterated, "You better start playing fair or you're gonna lose..." He smacked her butt playfully, "You're gonna lose your bet... and me, you and Drea... we're all gonna win." he smirked.

"Okay, okay." she promised, dropping her head to compose herself. "No, no, no. I wanna win. I wanna win..." Rick removed his hands and took a step back. But Michonne grabbed his hands and put them right back on her butt as she giggled, "Just gimme one more kiss."

Rick shook his head at her antics and happily closed in.

"Are you guys going to join us?" The slightly amused voice of a brown-skinned woman with a short platinum blonde afro came out the double doors just ahead of where Rick and Michonne stood, groping one another. Her presence successfully separating them, Rick cleared his throat nervously and Michonne ran her thumb under her bottom lip to correct any smearing of her lipstick. The tall elegant woman, in a pair of ripped jeans and a billowy top, pushed back on her flip-flopped feet holding the door open with an extended arm and the two latecomers followed her silent instructions through the threshold. As they entered she shook their hands. "I'm Evie."

"Michonne. Call me Mimi." Already thoroughly enjoying this date, she introduced herself to Evie with a smile.

"Rick. Pleasure t'meet you." The cowboy nodded in greeting, following closely behind Michonne with his hand at her waist. As he shook Evie's hand she gave him a perceptive look and a gesture alerting him that his lips had a bit of unwanted color from their make-out session. He swept his hand quickly over his mouth and chin to remove it.

After finding their places in front of their canvases, Evie got them a pair of smocks and though Rick was sad to cover Michonne's body, he found a lot of his brainpower restored without her roundness distracting him. He took in his surroundings.

He'd never been in the Art room of the building. Shelves with rows and rows of supplies lined the walls. It was a large space with pottery wheels, a few weaving looms and sewing machines. All of that had been pushed to the back of the room for the currents set up of stocked work stations, easels and painting supplies. A large table of various sized vibrant paintings were on display as well as a smaller, beautifully dressed table with glasses, wine bottles, and a platter of crackers, meats and cheeses.

He took a seat at an easel on the other end of the room and settled in next to his woman. As he looked around, he saw every eye in the room was on him. Rick shifted in his seat when he noticed the _all-female, all black_ group of participants.

"Ladies." He nodded at the leering stares from the women seated in a semi-circle around the room. A couple of them stealing glances and whispering as they nudged their neighbors to acknowledge him. Others were openly eyeballing him shamelessly over their glasses of wine. A gradual response to his greeting came from the collective as the sight of him gave way to the delayed recognition of the sound of his voice.

Evie's spoke from the front of the room, "Rick, Mimi. We were just writing wishes on our canvases with our chalk pencils." She held up the instrument to help them find one among their supplies, "Your writing will be covered over with a black background. So, write something you wish for. It can be a secret or something you both want to achieve. Be bold and confident in your ability to paint your life in whatever colors you choose and write your wish." Evie spoke in a soothing, enthusiastic voice. "Send your hopes and dreams into the universe."

A heavy-set older woman with long gray cornrows asked, "Can I change my wish?"

"Of course." Evie answered.

Beside the outspoken lady, another woman- who sat alone, snickered when gray-haired woman asked Rick, "Okay, how do you spell your whole name, blue eyes? I'm putting _you_ on my wish list." The group laughed together, except for the younger girl sitting closest to the frisky matron. She rolled her eyes and threw her head back in frustration. Rick looked relieved when the elder lady addressed Michonne, "Honey, don't mind me. I'm 60 years old. All I can do is wish."

"All I can do is wish, too." Michonne mumbled and rolled her eyes at her weeks of self-denial as she picked up the pencil, turning to Rick. "You wanna make a wish with me or keep yours a secret?" She asked him, hoping for a particular answer, though she wasn't sure which one she wanted. If he said he wanted to do it together, she would be happy to hear it. But if he said he wanted to keep his wish secret, it was an opportunity to use her feminine wiles to make him change his mind... which was always so much fun.

"Write whatever you want. I already got my wish." He tossed her a meaningful smile. "Don't wanna push my luck with the universe."

Michonne dropped her head to the side, dizzy with her quickening heartbeat and the focus it took for her to remember to breathe. She hadn't imagined _that_ would be his answer but as soon as he said it, she knew that was what she was hoping he'd say. That moment became one of many when Rick gave her what she didn't know she wanted.

She ran from his burning gaze and turning the canvas slightly out of his view she began to write her wish.

"What if my wish involves you? Don't you want to know?"

"Don't I always know anyway?" He countered with a smile, making her roll her eyes at his cocky answer. "You write it. I bet I can guess what it is."

"Okay. But you write something, too. I bet I can guess yours." She challenged him confidently. "You're not the only one who knows things."

Rick picked up his pencil. "Okay. Write."

"Smug ass..." Michonne mumbled through a smug smile of her own as she wrote in big fancy letters with the pink chalk pencil.

"You done yet?" Rick asked impatiently just to rattle her.

"Done!" she answered him, making a defiant face. Crossing her arms, she asked, "So, what do you think I wrote?"

"Surfboardt." Rick answered and immediately cracked up at his own joke, making Michonne join him in his amusement. Rick had just found out a few days ago what _surfboard_ meant. He was in Michonne's office, sitting at her desk, with her in his lap (as usual) and "Drunk in Love" came up on her playlist.

Rick was confused as to whether Beyoncé was actually saying surfboard since her pronunciation was a little weird. Then he was confused as to why she'd be singing about surfboards in such an erotic sounding song. Michonne got a kick out of his reaction when she explained the song was referring to a sexual position. Since then, Rick would just blurt out "surfboardt" for no other reason than to make her laugh.

"No! It's not surfboardt!"

"I know. I know. I'm just playin'." He finished laughing. "Let's see..." he trained his eyes on Michonne in concentration. "It's a number..."

"No. It's not. Why the hell would I wish for a number? I knew you wouldn't guess it."

"The number four..." Rick determined, ignoring her lack of confidence in him.

"I said it's not a number." She repeated.

"Look at what you wrote, Michonne." He said sternly. Michonne almost expected to see the number four appear on the canvas when she looked back, he'd said it with so much certainty. "It doesn't say for..." She was already shaking her head when he said "Ever?" and guessed correctly.

Her mouth dropped open, stunned. She positioned the easel so he could see her nearly perfect font spelling out exactly what he said. "How did you do that?"

"The same way you're gonna guess what I wrote." he answered, more confident in her ability than she was in his.

"Ummm..." Michonne thought hard about what it could be. She was a little taken aback trying to figure out how he guessed her wish and found it hard to concentrate on guessing his.

"Go ahead." Rick encouraged her, slowly waving the words out of her mouth as she nervously licked her lips. "Say it."

"Forever?" She stuttered out, unsure.

Rick turned his canvas. "See..." FOREVER was boldly printed sloppily across the white surface in blue chalk. "Technically, I gave you the answer since we wrote the same thing but..."

"Shut up..." Michonne tapped his arm playfully. They both became aware of the silence in the room when her whack echoed a little louder than expected. When they looked up at the rest of the group all eyes were glued to them again, everyone was watching their interaction play out like a romantic comedy.

"We're getting magic tricks and the whole nine up in here tonight, huh?" sitting at the opposite end of the half-circle, a woman close to Michonne's complexion, said with an excited tone. Rick snorted at the spectacle they seemed to be creating. Michonne leaned forward in a lighthearted, seated bow and the man beside her shook his head at her silliness.

Evie took the quiet in the room as an opportunity to resume the proceedings. She gave instructions to everyone to paint the edges and the entire surface with the black matte acrylic paint. "Now we'll give that a little time to dry and in the meantime, let's all introduce ourselves." The facilitator of the paint and sip announced, "I want everyone to enjoy the therapeutic benefits of painting tonight and we feel so much freer when we're among friends. So, tell us a bit about yourselves... if you're here with a partner, or not, explain what you hope this experience will mean for you and let's create a comfortable space where creativity can thrive. Would you like to go first?" She asked the pair nearest the door, one of whom, had commented on the impromptu magic trick by the Great Rick Grimes.

The two pretty women of similar age passed the opportunity to speak first back and forth until the darker one with long braids in jeans and a t-shirt rolled her eyes at her blouse-wearing friend and began, "My name is Ebony and this is my scary best friend Jackie, who never wants to say anything. Ummm, let's see... We work together and we hate our jobs." She looked to Jackie for confirmation and the taller, but shyer, woman nodded forcefully. "Tax season just ended and we just finished a boring week of training and decided to do something fun... and so here we are." Ebony ran out of words with an awkward smile. Evie thanked them both and gestured to the next couple.

"Hi everybody. I'm Taylor."

"And I'm Tiffany."

It was obvious the two caramel-colored women with wavy black hair were related, even though Tiffany's style was a bit more subdued, no one was surprised when Taylor announced, "We're sisters and it was her birthday yesterday." Everyone gave Tiffany a belated happy birthday forcing a blush on her cheeks as she thanked them all. Taylor concluded, "We're celebrating all weekend and tonight we're gonna paint!"

The older woman who made the joke about adding Rick to her wish list was next. "My name is Vivian. Y'all can call me Miss Viv or Mama V."

The younger girl beside her waved to everyone, "Hi, I'm Diamond."

Vivian began again, "I lost my husband three years ago." The entire group reacted sympathetically. "Well, he fought long and hard but I'm happy he's at peace now." she continued, as it probably did her good to talk about him fondly. "Met him when I was 14 and we were married 41 years and I could have done another 41 if God allowed it. We had 4 boys and my granddaughter Diamond was the first girl born in our family. When she turned 21, I took her out and we got drunk as a pair of skunks." they both laughed at the memory. "Now, since her granddad passed she's been insisting on taking me out to do things I've never done before. She's a good girl." Vivian patted her granddaughter's knee.

"Yes. You keep being a blessing to your grandmother, young lady. That's beautiful." Evie commended Diamond.

Her grandmother interrupted that inspiring comment, "But I know what I want to do for our next adventure, Diamond." Vivian grabbed her granddaughter by the arm, "Never had me a man with pretty blue eyes..." She winked at Rick and the class hooted and hollered at Mama V's mischief as Diamond's eyes went wide.

"Grandma!" She gasped in embarrassment.

"What?" Vivian feigned innocence, "That's something I've never done before!"

"I heard that, Miss V!" Ebony approved. "That's a sexy man, right there." Jackie hi-fived her friend. "No offense, sweetie," Ebony said to Michonne, "but your man is _foine_!"

"What other tricks he know?" Jackie whispered shyly past the back of her hand to her friend.

"No offense taken." Michonne giggled with everyone else and Rick cut his eyes to her, holding in his own laughter and shaking his head. "So, you're just gonna sit there and laugh?" He asked her, "You ain't gonna say nothin'?"

"I told you you were pretty in the parking lot..." she offered no assistance. "I could put a bag on your head but I don't think it would help."

"No, it wouldn't." The lady sitting beside them overheard Michonne and agreed through a giggle. She had yet to identify herself and as the laughter died down she began, "Hi everybody, I'm Romonica. I'm supposed to be here with my husband for our third anniversary. Hopefully he's on his way. But if not, I'm ready to just have a good time with y'all and not even worry about it."

All the other ladies voiced their support of Romonica. Most of them were already getting a little tipsy and then- as if operating with one mind- they all turned and smiled at Rick, eagerly waiting for him to speak.

"I'm Rick."

"Hi Rick." They all chimed to together like a chorus of thirst and broke into laughter comparable to a pack of hyenas.

"And I'm Mimi."

"Hey girl." Jackie and Ebony greeted her cheerfully.

"Hey, Mimi." Diamond spoke kindly.

Vivian called out, "Hey, _Mrs. Rick!_ You better claim that man, girl!"

"Well, Miss Viv, this is our first date." Michonne revealed, prompting 'awwws' from all the ladies in the room.

"I'm tryin' t'convince her to claim me, Miss Viv." Rick looked at his girlfriend and smiled teasingly.

"I do claim you!" Michonne slapped his arm again. "We're together..." she explained to everyone bashfully. Unsure of what else to say, she awkwardly suggested, "We should get back to work."

"Good idea." Evie agreed, feeling strong secondhand embarrassment for the solitary man in the room and his girlfriend. "Let's all stop sexually harassing Mimi's fine specimen of a man and focus on our paint and sip."

They were painting rainbow-colored dripping lips. It was a very psychedelic look and Rick was excited to re-create his own version and, in a way, _be_ Michonne for a while: creative, adventurous and maybe a bit excessive. Her originality and impulsiveness had him hooked and watching her enlivened eyes follow the smooth stroke of her brush turned him on like he wasn't expecting.

The way she tilted her head and winked her eye at her work while trying to decide how she could make it more beautiful made him smile. She was in her element and so engrossed in her process, she didn't even notice _him_ being engrossed in _her_. He'd found out something about himself on this date with Michonne: seeing her comfortable and happy was his new favorite thing. He could eat this scene of her and live off the life it gave him for a thousand years.

Finally, she caught him staring again. "What?" she asked him for second time that night. He wasn't just ogling her like most men did. He was studying her; taking her apart and putting her back together again with the glowing azure astrology in his eyes.

"Never seen you this quiet." He said, resuming his task.

Michonne bucked her eyes and stretched her neck, surprised at his statement. "Are you saying I talk too much!?" That was a common complaint of Mike's, especially when she stayed over at his place and he was going over notes for a.m. cases.

Rick laughed, realizing that was one possible interpretation of his remark. "No. You don't talk too much." he answered plainly and pulled a brow up cautiously, "You talk a lot." He watched as her jaw dropped with a gasp, like he could've predicted it would. Unable to keep a straight face he gave in and added, "I love t' hear you talk. I wanna hear everythang you want t' tell me." he revealed. The shock and worry on her face turned to a soft satisfaction, followed by a gleeful grin. "But, I like this, too. I like to learn new thangs about you. I _was_ under the impression that if you were quiet you were upset about somethin'. But after tonight, I can see that you're quiet when you're content, too." He explained, "Now I gotta figure out the diff'rence between _upset quiet_ and _content quiet_."

"Y'all are too cute." Romonica felt compelled to say. "I'm sorry, I'm listening to this sweetness going on over here and... y'all are a beautiful couple." The other women joined her, speaking over one another in agreement.

"Remind me of me and my Winston." Mama V related, "He wasn't as handsome as Rick but he was a good man... treated me like a queen. He knew all my moods. He took care of me and I took care of him. We loved each other hard. Don't let anyone tell you there's any other way to love." She counseled all the younger women and Diamond nodded like she'd heard this speech many times before. Miss Viv eyed Romonica and pointed at her with a weighty voice, "And let me save you some time figuring this out: loving hard don't mean love should _be_ hard, sugar pie."

Rick turned to Michonne with a sexy smile and jokingly asked her if she was paying attention. Rick had no idea yet, how much Michonne was indeed listening. He didn't know about her childhood or all the ways love had been hard on her. She smiled back, deep in thought and ruminated as the paint and sip turned into a 'Waiting to Exhale' sequel. They talked about work, kids and relationships, exchanging stories and wisdom like they'd known each other for years.

Everyone was so curious about this exceptional connection the new couple seemed to have. And Rick and Michonne told them a little bit about how they met and how things were going. Evie applauded them for trying for, what she called, an "esoteric coupling" before introducing sex to the romance. Ebony and Jackie were less supportive of the idea.

Rick informed them that he'd been married before, told them he was a dad. Michonne left out the painful points, but she explained how her past was the opposite of his. And in relating it all to strangers, who didn't know her like best friends or siblings, she noticed how easy it was to speak on positive after positive about who Rick was and how she felt. She was so optimistic about this guy, she couldn't help planning their future and in the back of her mind she knew she was falling in love. It hadn't even crossed her mind to be fearful of it.

She looked at Rick's exquisite profile as he laughed at something Taylor was saying and took a sip of his wine. He was a beautiful thing- as every woman in there had remarked throughout the session. They all could feel a certain security with him. It was obvious in the way they shared so much about themselves in his presence. And when he talked- they listened, like they knew it was his job to know things. The only man in the room, a white guy at that, had them all eating out of his hand. It started out as flirtatious comments, but by the time they were saying goodbye, Rick Grimes was a man every one of them respected.

And he was all hers.

"Would you mind if Romonica comes to dinner with us." Michonne whispered in his ear as he rearranged the room for Evie back to its pre-paint and sip configuration. Rick considered her dark brown eyes and Michonne smiled sheepishly when she thought she spied a moment of pride as he studied the sincerity there. "It kinda sucks that James never showed up. I feel bad for her."

"No. I wouldn't mind. That's sweet'a you to suggest it." Rick said, pulling her into a kiss with the crook of his arm. "You're real sweet." he kissed her again and moaned quietly, indulging in the taste of her. "Real... real... sweet." Their lips smacked again and again and she wrapped her arms around his waist lifting herself to meet his affections. When they noticed the sounds of their kisses caught up in the acoustics of the once rowdy room, they both looked up to find that they were, once again, the center of attention.

"Ladies…" Rick called to their recently gained acquaintances as they all looked on with proud and hopeful expressions plastered on their faces.

They all cooed at the couple with another collective "Awwww!" and Michonne buried her head into Rick's chest, giggling from embarrassment.

"I see you Rick Grimes." Ebony's voice rose above the others. "Y'all gonna lose that damn bet!"


	13. Chapter 13

**First Date- Part Two**

Romonica turned down their invitation for dinner. She looked touch by the gesture but she decided it would be better for her not to have a front row seat to Rick proving that men who were the total package still existed. They ended up at a spot that Carol had suggested, where the atmosphere and service turned out to be better than the food.

The place was gorgeous with high coved ceilings and arched windows that overlooked the river. Most of the customers sat out on the veranda in the evening breeze but Michonne was too chilly with temperatures in the low seventies. The view indoors was just as romantic with real ivy climbing the white plaster walls and even overhead. The cream-colored seats and table settings seemed to glow in the abundance of candlelight. And though there seemed to be a flame flickering on every surface in the room, the tinge of orange dancing on the stark environment was casting shadows that made their plush rounded booth fell extra snug and sleepy. It was like that restaurant belonged to them.

Without much delay, their tiny effeminate server, Toni, came over to introduce himself wearing more eyeliner than Michonne and thin expertly shaped facial hair. He had just a hint of a Spanish accent and had most likely just turned old enough to serve alcohol, though he probably was still too young to drink it. Admiring Rick's lovely date, he went on and on complimenting her head to toe before he got around to the business of taking their drink orders.

"I'll have a seven and seven and what'chu want, honey?"

"Lemonade?" Michonne shrugged unsure if they had that option.

"My wife'll have a lemonade." Rick announced looking right at Michonne. Toni missed her puzzled grin and left the table, headed to the bar.

"Your wife?" Michonne asked after a few quiet moments as she studied her menu.

"Yeah. We're married. I gotta lock you down like Miss Viv said. You good with that?"

"Well, I don't know. Where's my ring?"

"What?! You lost your ring?" Rick pulled her perfectly manicured fingers into his hand, rubbing his thumb under her ring-finger knuckle. "I spent a fortune on that ring, Michonne. Why would you take it off?"

Toni came back with their drinks, "Everything okay?"

"Not really, Toni." Rick answered running his hand over his face dramatically. "My wife just told me she lost her wedding ring. I take her out for our anniversary and she's not wearing her ring!"

Michonne decided to level the playing field. "He's not telling you the whole story, Toni. Our anniversary was last week." She snatched her hand away from Rick, crossed her arms and raised her brow with a pretend attitude.

Rick thought his performance was pretty good but Michonne's was better. He reached across the table for her hand, which she denied him. "C'mon, baby. I apologized for being away. If I could'a rescued those kittens from that burning building on a diff'rent night, I would'a." He hid a wink from Toni, pleased with his addition to their little play.

"Oh, wow." Toni exclaimed sympathetically. "You're a firefighter?"

"I wish!" Rick embellished a little more, "I could've used their protective gear that night. No, I was just at the right place at the right time."

"Oh, my goodness." Toni put his hand over his heart, stirred by the thought of Rick's heroics. "I love kittens!" Michonne rolled her eyes, seeing their server was taking Rick's side. _He's good,_ she thought as she tried to figure a way to beat him at his own game. "Happy anniversary. How long have you guys been married?"

"Feels like forever!" Michonne answered, pretending to be exhausted with the old ball and chain.

Rick chuckled and Toni grinned at her theatrics, "Any kids?"

Michonne grabbed the opportunity for the upper-hand, "We tried for a while but Rick, here, was shooting blanks."

Toni looked to him with a pitiable unease. Rick shook his head at her low blow and laughed. "I wasn't shootin' blanks," he defended himself, "Just had to improve my aim, s'all. Three sets of twins... that was all me." Rick told a ridiculous lie that made Michonne swell her chest to hold in her laughter.

"Three sets of twins..." She repeated, questioning the unbelievable family composition her "husband" had made up. "I look good for a woman who had three sets of twins, don't I Toni?"

"Queen, I was just about to say... you are slaying the game out here." Toni congratulated Michonne all the more.

"But what he's not saying is that we actually have seven kids." Rick perked to hear her weave another tale. "You know, my husband had a baby on me with a white lady?" Rick almost spit out his drink. "But I love my white son anyway. It's not his fault his daddy is a hoe."

"Oh no, honey! You a real one. I couldn't take that from no man." the waiter vowed, totally immersed in their world of make believe.

Rick spoke up, "She _tried_ to leave me but nobody else could satisfy her in bed. So, she came crawlin' back."

Toni laughed at their craziness. "I think that's a little bit much for my virgin ears." he shook his head. "I'll give you guys a little more time to look over the menu and decide what you're having'. He tapped the table with his pen and sauntered off.

Michonne watched him go back into the kitchen and a few seconds later he came to the kitchen's entrance with some of the back of the house staff. Michonne glanced inconspicuously as Toni slyly pointed at their table whispering to his coworkers, generating amused and shocked faces as he presumably spilled the tea on Michonne and Rick's "tumultuous" relationship.

"Looks like we're the center of attention no matter where we go tonight." Michonne gave a secret gesture toward their waiter and their huddle of gawkers. "You must be loving that." She commented sarcastically, having had more than a few conversations about Rick's disdain for social media and people's indifference towards privacy.

"I am." he said mischievously. "I'm havin' the best time. I think you an' me are makin' history tonight."

"Probably." Michonne smiled and took his breath away, "We did get married and I pushed out six babies in a matter of minutes tonight."

"And I gave you a white son."

Michonne giggled, hearing him repeat what she said made her feel a little embarrassed now. She covered her face, "Oh my god! I can't believe _you_ are the bad influence in this relationship!" She tried to save a little face, "I'm trying to be a good mommy, though." she said seriously, "I've been a lot more thoughtful about what I post on my accounts since you told me he was lurking. I can't be held accountable for what he may have seen before, though." she held a hand up in her own defense. "But I've been keeping things a little more PG... well, PG-13." she grinned.

Again, Rick drank in her adorableness, "He wants to meet you so bad, but he's still tryin' to put up the whole 'teenage who cares, whatever' front. It's all very exhaustin' for him."

Michonne had to laugh. She was still guilty of the whole 'teenage who cares, whatever' front at times. "So, when are you gonna let me meet the little intruder in my life?"

Rick put on an extreme long face to Michonne's giggling delight. "He's gonna still my thunder." he lamented, then answered her seriously, "I don't know... maybe next month when school's out. He's obsessed with you and he won't be able to function once he meets you in the flesh... I can barely function." He raised his eyes slowly to hers wanting her to realize the truth of that confession.

The blossoming couple began dinner a table's length away from each other, however the need to touch soon took over and they found themselves unable to resist the magnetic pull. Michonne sat under her boyfriend's left arm with her fingers tracing his right hand, laying heavy in her lap. His right hand kept finding new ways to fondle her legs and thighs. While the long feelers of his left hand surveyed her upper body, skipping around from her neck, to her ear, to her cheek and chin.

Rick was especially enjoying the 80's tracks that coursed through the venue's sound system. He was feeling like an adolescent again, venturing boldly into an uncharted future with the woman of his dreams. It was a trip that Rick thought he'd made over 20 years ago with Lori. He didn't end up where he thought he would in that undertaking. But he learned so much; enough to know that this was different.

When Toni came to clear away the remains of their food and drinks, Foreigner's "Waiting for a Girl Like You" was reading Rick's mind, heralding the feelings of a man who had waited so long to find the one. He felt an overwhelming happiness as he looked down at Michonne's bright smile and dark eyes. "You wanna dance?" He asked her in a husky tone, "I know this ain't your kinda music..."

"I know Foreigner, Rick. You act like I'm some young girl who only listens to rap... I love this song."

"C'mon." Rick said sliding out of their booth pulling Michonne behind him gently.

For a long time, Rick had chosen not to be the dancing type.

He _could_ dance. He did at prom and at his wedding. But since then he had sat out many a function with his ex-wife. Lori would beg and he wouldn't budge. He had no motivation. He wasn't in a mood to have fun, punishing himself for marrying her when he shouldn't have and punishing her for making him look like a fool. He was resolved to what was left of his life, like a man on his way to the gallows. He kept a dull, steady march to nothing and nowhere.

So, Michonne was more than a breath of fresh air to him, she was the resuscitation that rescued him from unconsciousness.

"We can't just dance in the aisle, Rick. We'll be in the way."

He looked around then, and spied a big unoccupied space on the other side of solid wood, French doors near the back of the restaurant. "Hey Toni, This music..."

"Yeah. I know. I'm sorry. My manager likes the _oldest_ oldies." The younger man replied with a roll of his eyes.

Michonne found his misunderstanding comical, to Rick it was painfully so, as their waiter rained on his nostalgic parade. The 70's born, 80's kid, shot Michonne a playful warning glare but otherwise rolled with the punches and explained with a chuckle, "The music is fine. Is it okay if me an' my gorgeous wife do a little slow dancin' over there?" He nodded to the area.

"Sure, you can." He answered right away. "We use that room for big parties but I don't expect any this late. Knock yourselves out."

"Thanks." he pulled Michonne in front of him with his hands on both her hips, pushing her to the alternative dance floor. He had his nose nuzzled in her spicy coconut scent before they could even get in step. He pulled her close just as Lou Gramm made his way to the end of the song,

 **There's nowhere on earth that I'd rather be**

 **than holding you tenderly**

"I think Toni's ready for us to go..." Michonne noticed.

"He'll be okay. He's gettin' a serious tip."

 **I've been waiting for someone new**  
 **To make me feel alive**  
 **Yeah, waiting for a girl like you**  
 **To come into my life**

Michonne's arms rested on Rick's shoulders, hugging his neck. She sighed, pressing her body comfortably into his bulky frame. "Tell me about your last date." She was wondering if this was all for her or if this was just the Rick Grimes every woman got. She wouldn't be upset if it was. She could believe that a man like him would make every date he went on perfect. Instead of being upset, she smiled after she asked him, thinking of how he belonged to her now. "Where'd you take her?"

Rick had to put a lot of effort into leaving the moment he was in to search his memory for something that may have been deleted as soon as he dropped what's her name off. "Umm..." He suspended his sway, "I'm pretty sure she asked me out. So, I don't know. Maybe we went to a bar or somethin'."

"She asked you out, huh? Damn. They just jump on your hook, don't they?" the woman in his arms laughed as he resumed the dance he was using as an excuse to get every part of her on him. "I know I did."

"I saw you first and you didn't even need a hook." He whispered in her ear as he pulled her ponytail to expose her neck to him, where he kissed her with barely any pressure. "Even though you were making your boyfriend cry... I wanted to be the guy you were talkin' to."

"Then you found out I talk too much."

"I never said you talk too much..." he reminded her apologetically with his down-home twang.

"You kinda did."

"A lot... I said you talk a lot."

"Some would say there's not much difference. I'm obviously, one of those people. You ever think maybe I talk so much because you make me nervous?" She made a point with a little sass. "You're usually so serious and you're always staring and you make me feel so needy. It's your fault that I talk a lot. You ever think of that?" She rambled.

"Shut up, Michonne." He said slipping his tongue ambitiously past her lips as she giggled at his words.

A man telling her to shut up was a serious infraction any other time. But his lips on hers gave him a little leeway. His prankish yet commanding inflection made her close her eyes with arousal and she started to worry that maybe her jumpsuit would confess how much his voice physically affected her with a wet spot between her legs. He must've known though, judging from the monologue he delivered through his lush, cottony kisses as Cyndi Lauper's "Time after Time" began softly.

 **Lying in my bed I hear the clock tick**

 **and think of you**

 **Caught up in circles confusion**

 **is nothing new**

"Why talk when I can prove?" He asked her as she sank into his embrace. "I could say 'Michonne, I'm gonna make you happy' or I could just make you smile." He said pressing his hand to the back of her waist, engaging the front of her against his brassy erection, making her giggle then turn somber with longing on a dime. "I could say 'I want to see you' or I could just come to where you are. I could say 'I want you to need me' or I could just put my finger to work until I wrap you around it." He traced a finger slowly along her belly, raising the fine hairs on her arms and the corners of the lips he kept attacking. "I could tell you to say my name or make it the only thing you _want_ to say. What would you prefer?"

She answered clearly with an incoherent moan.

They wore down the night to R.E.O. Speedwagon, Richard Marx, Journey, Roxette and other big-haired romantic screamers of decades past. Michonne felt bad for Toni when she saw him cleaning his tables in anticipation to leave. Rick was true to his word, though. When Toni glanced at the bill's tip line he looked like he'd won the lottery. Their formerly exhausted attendant perked up and reminded them repeatedly to ask for him whenever they came back and he'd be happy to take care of them.

When they left the paint and sip for dinner, Michonne had insisted that she drive to the restaurant even though Rick swore one glass of wine couldn't affect him. She didn't want to take a chance on anything ruining their night. When they ended up back in the rec center's parking lot next to Rick's truck, they had the saddest moment of silence preparing to say goodbye. In the end, he simply couldn't let her go. And she couldn't leave.

He easily persuaded her to join him in the backseat of his truck. Opening the sun roof to the dim little lights in the sky struggling to be seen through the glare of the nearby city lights, Rick just enjoyed the moment. He leaned back, stretched out across the leather seats and pulled his doll up on his chest. Her arms hugged around his ribs, her leg was thrown over his. They were a comfortable tangle of limbs in a quiet innocent cuddle. Rick kept her under his chin. Michonne kept her lips near his and he more than took advantage of the easy access.

Michonne's phone was connected to his stereo's bluetooth and he insisted she play whatever she was in the mood for, secretly hoping to take notes on whether this was a _content quiet_ or an _upset quiet_.

She was deep in her thoughts and in a certain frame of mind, one she couldn't describe. At the risk of being too transparent, she pressed play on Lil' Wayne's "How to Love". Something about the strum of the guitar soothed her. Sometimes the words of the song made her sad. Sometimes they made her wonder.

 **You had a lot of dreams that transform to visions  
The fact that you saw the world affected all your decisions  
But it wasn't your fault, wasn't in your intentions**

Could she ever see the world differently? Could a man like Rick adjust her view? How had all her intentions become so poisoned? Could he be her antidote?

 **Never really had luck, couldn't never figure out  
How to love**

If it was just luck and not anything in her power, did that make her struggles in love better for her or worse?

 **Yeah, see you had a lot of moments that didn't last forever  
Now you in this corner tryna put it together  
How to love**

Was this _just_ another moment for her and nothing more? She had no doubt _this_ was a moment. Maybe they could make it last forever, like Miss Viv and Winston had. _Rick had tried to make something last forever,_ she thought... _and he failed._

"Rick?" She stared into the dark cabin and called him away from his study of the lyrics and his hypnotic gaze into the purple patch of sky.

"Hmm?"

"You've been married before..." Instead of asking about a forever like Vivian and Winston, she asked him about what he'd most likely know, "How do people end up like Romonica and James after only three years?"

"I don't know, baby." He whispered into her hair. "Maybe they got married for the wrong reasons in the first place. Maybe they got married for the right reasons to the wrong person. I don't know."

"What happened with you and your wife?" she asked him not feeling the least bit intrusive until he hesitated to answer. "Is that too personal?" She adjusted her body on his to see his face and backtracked to respect his privacy.

"No, honey, it's not too personal. It's just not a nice story, s'all..." Michonne drifted high on his chest as he sighed on a deep breath and continued, "She listened to her friends and made some bad choices. I was too trustin'... and well, we got married for the wrong reasons."

"What reasons?" Michonne asked, as the piano pushed Alicia Keys into their quiet conversation. "Diary" was next in the shuffle and Rick prepared to peel the onion of his life.

Rick decided to just spit it out. "No one else knows this." he made sure she understood, "Not Daryl, not even my mother."

Michonne nodded, recognizing he was about to make their relationship more significant than the one he had with his best friend, even more significant than the one he had with the woman who brought him into this world. That created a lump of emotion in her throat as she waited for him to continue.

"She got pregnant... or she told me she got pregnant and then I found out she never was and I couldn't get past it." He said plainly. "Her friends told her that if I joined the military, like I planned to, she'd be better off if we got married."

 **I won't tell your secrets  
Your secrets are safe with me**

"You didn't want to marry her?"

 **I will keep your secrets  
Just think of me as the pages in your diary**

"I prob'ly would've... I guess. I don't know. I had other thangs on my mind then. But when she told me she was gonna have my baby, I married her because that's what my dad would've done." Rick found that funny. _If only I would'a known the life my father really led with my mother_. "I found out that Lori lied a few months later and our relationship was dead in the water."

"Damn, I guess so."

"I stayed with her though, but I made it clear that I didn't want to bring a kid into that kinda environment... And then she lies to me again... told me she was takin' her birth control when she wasn't, comes up pregnant with Carl. Says she did it 'cause she was jealous of her sister's family."

"Wow."

"That part was my fault... I should'a divorced her when I found out she wasn't pregnant. I kept her in the marriage out of spite. I was stubborn. Never tried to make it work. I was angry. She made me look stupid and I wanted to make her life miserable... and I did. I was good at it. I enjoyed it."

"I can't believe that."

 **Only we know what is talked about baby boy  
I don't know how you can be driving me so crazy boy  
Baby when you're in town, why don't you come around boy  
I'll be the loyalty you need, you can trust me boy**

"Lookin' back, I can't believe the thangs I said and did to her either. It was ugly." His heavy voice trailed off, ashamed.

"I guess you wouldn't want to get married again after that."

"Said _just_ that more times than I can count." Michonne was disappointed but already reordering her future hopes so Rick could still be a part of them. "But I was lying." He changed his tune to her delight. "I love my son. I know I'll get married again and have more kids, God willin'. What about you? You wanna get married start a fam'ly... with somebody" he tried to make his question as innocuous as possible "... one day?"

She wanted to pour out her heart to him about everything she'd been through in life. His honesty with her made her feel so peacefully protected. "I'm kind of scared to try it. I didn't grow up in a family like most people."

Rick waited. "You want to tell me?"

"One dysfunctional family story is probably enough for tonight." She joked wiping away a tear. She didn't even know she was crying. She wasn't sure if her tears were for Rick or herself.

A few still moments later, Rick's phone buzzed from his pocket. He pulled it out and a chuckle followed. When Michonne looked up at him curiously, he explained. "Your white son's callin'."

They both laughed as Rick put the call on speaker.

"Hey, Carl." Rick gave him a weak greeting, already sure of why he was calling.

"Hey, dad. How'd your date go? Thought you were gonna call me when you got home? Did Michonne have fun? How'd your painting turn out? ... better than your handwriting, I hope." He let loose an avalanche of his most pressing questions while still holding dozens of others at the ready. He could hear "Take Care" in the background. Drake serving as his father's soundtrack had stopped being shocking to Carl.

 **When you're ready, just say you're ready  
When all the baggage just ain't as heavy  
And the party's over, just don't forget me**

 **We'll change the pace and we'll just go slow**

"Actually, I'm still on my date."

 **You won't ever have to worry, you won't ever have to hide  
You've seen all my mistakes so look me in my eyes**

"Oh, sorry..." he apologized sheepishly. "Wait..." He noticed the distant sound of his father's voice. "Am I on speaker? Can she hear me?"

"Yes. You are and yes, she can." Rick smiled at his son's embarrassment.

"Oh." Carl cringed, wishing he'd been a lot cooler a second ago.

Michonne decided to cut his torment short, "Hi Carl. It's Michonne." They heard a tight quaver from the kid's end of the call and Rick could just picture his son's stunned face at hearing his secret idol speaking to him. "I had lots of fun tonight." _And six babies_ , she almost said before she thought better of it. "You sent us on the perfect date. You're the real MVP. I owe you."

"I'm... glad you had gun... I mean fun." A _good_ time and a _fun_ time tried to come out of his mouth simultaneously and he rolled his eyes at his mistake. Rick laughed and Michonne censured him with a pinch to his chest.

"Your dad says we can get together once school's out and I'm real excited to meet you. You like rollercoasters?"

"Yeah." He jumped to answer.

"Maybe we can go to Six Flags?"

"Dad won't ride 'em though."

"He will for me. Won't you, Rick?" She asked him as her boyfriend shook his head no. That earned him another pinch to the chest and he laughed in and out of a howl of pain, which Carl heard and enjoyed almost as much as Michonne. "You're going to ride them, right?" she asked him one more time through the grit of her teeth.

"Yep." He strained out the right answer, while rubbing his wounds. "I'll call you tomorrow, Carl. Go to bed."

"Okay dad. I'm not sleeping in tomorrow, so you can call me early. As early as you want." He hinted, eager for more details about their date. "Love you, dad. Good night, Michonne."

 **If you let me, here's what I'll do  
I'll take care of you  
I've loved and I've lost**

"Good night, Carl." she giggled.

"Love you, too." Rick said and Carl disconnected the call. His father spoofed a sigh, shaking his head, "Whew… white sons."


	14. Chapter 14

_Baby Shower: Part One_

 _"Y_ _ou have a collect call from Shane Walsh, an inmate at Westwall Correction-"_

Michonne went to press the accept option so quickly she nearly pulled out her big gold hoop earring. She heard the line connect and tears immediately filled her eyes. She heard that familiar short, yet, somehow drawn out twang,

"Hey, Mimi."

"Hey, Bubba! Oh my goodness! You okay?" She called him by the name he secretly loved, even though it started out as a tease about his thick accent.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"What the hell happened? I haven't heard from you in two months. I came to see you they said you couldn't have visits. You know those assholes don't tell us anything. I was so worried about you!"

"I know. I'm sorry, Sis."

"But what happened?"

"Fuckin' skinheads."

"Again?" Michonne was worn out with Shane and his battle for truth and justice against those bigoted idiots. "What the hell, Bubba?"

"I said sorry, Mimi. I don't need no lecture... you know I ain't gonna let nunna them shits disrespect my fam'ly."

Shane had a hard time since they'd transferred him to another prison out of state. He was so close to coming home and it seemed like everything in the world was trying to keep him there. He had become a special target of the Aryan Soldiers. They called him Tarzan when they saw pictures of his family, saying he was raised by apes and other childish insults.

He only had weeks to go and he was so skittish. When he got convicted, right away he came to terms with the thought that he'd die in jail like his mother. He thought it couldn't have been a coincidence that they both were sent up for crimes they didn't commit. He figured he went in like she went in and he'd come out like she came out: in a body bag.

Shane hadn't been involved in that robbery. But he was a known addict and the law enforcement in those parts were itching to make something stick to the sarcastically disrespectful but slippery junkie. They got their wish when Shane bummed a ride with some other crankers who, unbeknownst to him, had robbed a store earlier.

There had been four of them in the car at the time of the incident, but only three when Shane ran into them. When the cops pulled them over and brought them in, Shane was identified as one of the passengers in the getaway car.

Truth was, he did look like the actual perpetrator. It was his curly mop head that did the damage. Side by side, you could tell him and the man, whose crime he was accused of, apart. But on the grainy neighborhood store's surveillance footage they could have been brothers. Maybe even the same guy if you really didn't give a damn about justice as long as riffraff went to jail.

Shane was in the life and he knew sometimes those were the breaks. Nobody cries over a drug addict's false imprisonment. Nobody but the people who love him... and most of those people loved him regretfully.

His mother, though, deserved better. She had been a beloved member of their little community and his childhood had been happy until she started dating Alderman Ronald Mallett. He was just a little more well-known and beloved, which was why his mother liked him in the first place. She thought he'd be a good father figure for Shane. A man so successful taking them into his life seemed like a dream come true. Unfortunately, Ronald Mallett also happened to be a woman-beating maniac.

His mother tried to get help time and again but no one wanted to defy the charismatic council member. So she killed him one night when he tried to beat Shane. She stabbed him twenty-two times. They called it a crime of passion, not the protection of her only son. Shane always grieved the fact that he'd called for his mother's help like a coward. If he could do it all over, he would have taken that beating gladly if it meant he could've kept his mother.

She only made it a few months in prison before she died inside from a choking incident that never made sense to Shane. No one from his mom's family would take him in, just like they never took her in when she needed asylum from Mallet. He disowned them as family and found another when he ended up at Morgan's house. And when a skinny chocolate-colored girl came to stay with them, they bonded right away. With their love of comics, and the lack of stores that sold the good ones, she and Shane made their own. Michonne illustrated, of course, and Shane came up with the plot twists and cliffhangers.

They always drove Sasha, Tyreese and even the ever-patient Morgan, insane with their constant play-fighting. The silliness that erupted in one side of the house and bumped and screamed and crashed to the other, would try everyone else's nerves. Morgan only allowed it because he'd rather they tear his house up with horseplay than have a quiet house full of teenage depression.

They engaged in the same pranks and tomfoolery into adulthood. When he went away, she didn't have anyone to cause a ruckus with and she missed him even more. Andrea's uppity ass would rather ride the city bus than wrestle with Michonne like a wild animal. The universe had a known bylaw that explicitly forbade hitting either Tyreese or Maggie- even for play, and Sasha would take all the fun out of it and just beat Michonne up... when she wasn't pregnant... which was never.

"Who cares what those racists say?" Michonne scolded him, when she knew deep down she would have probably done the same thing Shane had if she were in his shoes. "You can't let them push your buttons. You can't let them jeopardize you coming home on time."

"I know, Sis. I know."

"Just steer clear of them a little longer."

"Steering clear is easier said than done. I am where I am, Mimi."

"Look, Bubba, we're all gonna be there to get you next month. If they don't let you come home, I'm gonna have to break you out... so tell me right now, do I need to shop for a superhero outfit or what?"

He chuckled, "Any excuse to shop." He muttered to himself. "Breakin' prisoners outta jail would make you a villain."

"You're right. Villains are sexier anyway."

"Speaking of prison breaks, how close is Sasha to paroling her little inmate?"

"A few more weeks. And she is fat, Bubba! I don't know how she breathes."

"Her mean ass breathes fire. You know that, Mimi."

Michonne laughed. "Ooooo! Imma tell her!"

"I don't care... she can't get to me." He said, for once glad to be safe behind prison walls. He correlated, "Abe got any gray hairs yet? It'd be an improvement to the color he's got."

Ooooo! Imma tell _him_!"

"C'mon you snitch. You always instigatin'. Can't our conversations stay private."

"Nope. This is a call from a correctional facility." She droned imitating the dead voice of the android operator that always announced his calls. "Your calls may be monitored or recorded." They laughed together and Michonne wished she could see his cheeks rosy with happiness.

"How's Ty?"

"Good." Michonne reported. "He's always in daddy mode, dragging me to Noah's band recitals." She rolled her eyes. "Your nephew is a beast on them drums, though.

"Can't wait to hear him play. What about Morgan? How's he doing?"

"Not so good. He still can't talk. But I think he recognizes us sometimes. When you visit him he'll probably snap right out of it. You always were his favorite."

"I wish it could be that easy. It kills me that I haven't been there for him through all this."

She tried to bring him out of that darkness, "He knows you love him, Bubba. What should be killing you is that you're missing Daredevil, The Flash, Luke Cage, Arrow... all these shows that we have to binge watch when you get home!"

"You still waitin' for me?"

"I _may_ have slipped up and watched a few episodes..."

"Disloyal."

I know. I know. But I learned my lesson because after the show is over I don't have no one to practice my superhero moves with. You're the Ra's Al Ghul to my Batman." the nerdy shopaholic paid homage to her favorite playmate.

"No, dummy. I'm the Joker to your Batman." He corrected her. "Cuz when I'm locked up you ain't got nobody to fight."

"Yeah, but Ra's Al Ghul taught Bruce Wayne _how_ to be Batman." She said sweetly. And Shane understood the sentiment behind the words.

He'd taught her how to be strong and how to protect herself from her feelings. They were both such tenderhearted people that they had to develop a impenetrable exoskeleton. That's what Shane taught her. She held to that like scripture until one Rick Grimes put out her cigarette and all her misdirected fury.

But she was a year and some change out from that moment.

"Your boyfriend don't watch that stuff witchu?" He deflected from her endearments. "What's his name Wayne... Wilson...?

"You mean Wesley? I'm not with him anymore."

"Daggone! Mimi. What's that? Boyfriend number 380?"

"Shut up! NO!"

"So who's up next? I know you don't let one go 'fore you got a new applicant."

"Well," She smiled mischievously, "It's between this guy named Kenny and this guy named Mike. Mike is a lawyer."

"Okay two new applicants. Choices are good." He trailed off uninterested. "So, how's work?"

Michonne laughed as Shane beat around the bush unconvincingly. "Now we're getting closer."

"Closer to what? What you mean?"

"Closer to your favorite topic."

"What topic's that?"

"You've asked about everybody else you could think of. Even Wesley who I _know_ you couldn't care less about. Now that you've proven that you don't really care about her, we can finally talk about her, huh?"

"Who?"

"C'mon, Bubba." Michonne sidestepped his pretend ignorance and filled him in on her best friend, "She's good. Still single. I don't know how you're keeping her single from behind bars... Y'all must really be in love.

Shane knew if Michonne could have seen his face at the mention of his feelings for Andrea, she would've made fun of him until they were old and gray. He quickly changed the subject. "Speakin'a love. How 'bout you stop playin' 'round with these fools and find yaself somebody who's serious 'bout you? Somebody that'a make you happy.

"I make me happy, Bubba. Remember, 'Be a self-sustained entity'?" She reminded him of his oft-repeated mantra.

"I remember. That was when we was kids, Mimi. I got perspective now." Shane felt bad for filling her head with all that crap about putting up walls and "emotional anesthesia". He was thinking about things differently now, but he knew his sister. He'd have to ease her into a more beneficial way of thinking. "Losing years'll do that to ya- give ya perspective. Being surrounded by dudes... you can't help but think about women. 'Fore Morgan's stroke he told me to pay attention to my thoughts. Cuz thoughts say what's in the heart." Shane reminisced on the man who'd always been there for him. "All I think about is her."

"Who? The girl we were just pretending we weren't talking about?" Michonne teased him and he sighed with a grin.

"Yes, Andrea, Mimi. I ain't a 'self-sustained entity'. I need 'er. We all need somebody."

"Well my thoughts at the moment say get this money and maybe some peanut butter chocolate bombs. Nobody stays on my mind... 'cept for you, Bubba." She acknowledged how much she worried about him, then turned hopeful. "But I would love for you and Andrea to get married... and have babies. Maybe the babies will make her crave burgers again and she can stop all this vegan crap."

He laughed. "I want that for you too, sis."

"What? Burgers?" She joked. "That's sweet."

"No. Shut up. You so stupid, Mimi." He laughed again.

"Well maybe there's somebody out there that I'm meant to be with. But unless he walks up to me out the blue, Imma stay on this grind and on my peanut butter chocolate bombs."

"I know better than to argue with you, sis. Only way to win is to get you in a headlock and since I'm not in strikin' distance, you got it." He gave up, with the intent to try again later. "I gotta go anyway."

"Okay. Well, please be safe. Now that I know you're okay, you can use your calls for Blondie. I love you, Bubba."

"Love you, too, sis."

Funny how much can change in a year and a few months.

Andrea and Shane were over and Michonne was the one in a committed relationship... and not with peanut butter chocolate bombs.

Shane managed to stay out of trouble and came home on time. He stayed with Tyreese and Noah until he found a job as a busboy and got his own basement apartment. He and Andrea immediately started up, heavy. I love you's came fast and furious with them and they meant it when they said it. Everybody could see it.

Michonne was so happy for her best friend and her brother. Andrea was never missing in action though, like Maggie tended to be, because wherever she went, Shane went, especially if Michonne would be there. To Michonne, it made everything better when they were all together. But soon the innocent ex-con and the sinful accountant began to crumble.

Shane wanted to do everything he'd been fantasizing about in jail... marriage and a family with Andrea. Andrea wanted it to, just not so fast. "We gotta prepare for that stuff, Shane. We can't just run off, get married... jump up, get pregnant... and suddenly settle down into the rest of our lives!" she screamed out during one of their final arguments as a couple.

"I know you think I'm just a dumb jailbird hick, Drea..." he'd answered back, " ...but don't forget I'm more "educated" than you are." He said disdainfully. "I got two degrees doin' my bid. I have four published books." He held no love for snobbish societal expectations who only respect your name if there are abbreviated titles behind it. But he knew how she was raised so he played her game.

Shane didn't know what preparation you needed to do to be in love enough to make a commitment. He viewed her reluctance as nothing more than the embarrassment of dating a guy who cleans bathrooms and pulls trash for a living.

Honestly, that _was_ part of her hesitation. But Andrea was a strategist by nature. Even at work, when Maggie and Michonne wanted to jump into a contract because it was a favor for someone Maggie knew or a project that inspired their resident artist, Andrea demanded all their ducks be in a row before she agreed to anything.

Michonne was caught in the middle of this implosion. She had always thought that her best friend would become her sister-in-law and her brother would get the life he wanted with a woman Michonne would always vouch for. By the time it was officially over, she had managed to keep both relationships separate and intact. No small feat, since she was dealing with two people as stubborn as she was. Andrea went back to filling her roster with established businessmen with amazing bone structure and sexual prowess, believing that Shane would patiently wait for her until she was ready.

Andrea had hoped he would make a rare appearance at Sasha's baby shower. Michonne's example had been inspiring her best friend to make more unselfish choices and step away from pride... just a little. But the day of, as Sasha, Maggie, Drea and Michonne put the finishing touches on the party, Shane called to say he had to work and couldn't make it. Though Sasha was disappointed that he wouldn't be there, she was kind of relieved that Michonne wouldn't have anyone to act a fool with. She'd be forced to maintain her ladylike manners amid all the finery she'd orchestrated for the very first pink baby shower in the Ford household.

Michonne was somewhat relieved herself, knowing that Shane and Rick didn't exactly get along. She was happy she wouldn't have to be the referee, keeping things civil between two of the only men she loved.

When Michonne met her girls at Sasha's, they gave her a round of applause for her punctuality. That was thanks to Rick trying to keep her, and himself, focused while she got dressed. That exercise in self-control was easier to complete since Carl was with them for the weekend and Rick knew Michonne would make too much noise.

A.J., Sasha and Abe's freckle-faced five-year-old with cornrows the color of nacho cheese Doritos, was in charge of taking the coats. The kindergartner who moonlighted as an aspiring rapper, had performed a sick freestyle for his Aunt Mimi when she arrived,

"Aunt Mimi in the house

so the haters need to bounce

and she looking real pretty

but I don't see my mans Ricky

or Carl, my roll dawg

auntie don't stall

where the G's at?

we lit, believe that!"

The little MC bounced rhythmically to his own inner beat as his aunt's friends stood in awe. A.J. was just learning to spell three-letter words. How he could string together words that rhyme from the top of his head was unbelievable to people like Maggie and Andrea, who had no endowment of creativity. But Michonne knew he was a prodigy and after they clapped for his performance, she told him where the "G's" were.

"Rick and Carl will be here soon. They dropped me off and went to get ice."

"I got enough ice for the whole party, auntie." He said flicking his rhinestone dog tags on a gold rope chain with amazing swagger.

"Get them coats, little boy and take 'em up stairs." Sasha emerged from the tall staircase and smacked him upside the head playfully. She held a chunky baby Duke on what was left of her hip with all that stomach in the way. "And stop frontin'!"

"Aint no frontin' here, Ma. Imma die real."

"And Imma get that belt and make it happen right now, if you don't take them coats upstairs." Sasha warned him as they all laughed at his chutzpah.

"I don't want no beef, beautiful." He said as he filled his arms with coats, "I got 99 problems but my moms ain't one."

"Let me get Duke." Maggie reached for the current baby of the house once A.J. took her coat.

"If he'll go..." Sasha said unsure as she tried to unburden herself and the 22-month-old threw a fit. His loose curls, flaming like oak leaves in autumn, flipped and flopped as he shook his head holding on to his mother.

"Oh, come on. Go to Maggie, Duke." Sasha begged him. She explained with exhaustion, "He's been so clingy. Guess he's milking it until his sister gets here."

"Your times almost up." Michonne teased him with a pinch to his chubby cheeks. Maggie finally bribed him with a game on her phone. "Where's Ali?" Michonne asked looking around for the 3-year-old introvert.

"In his room. You know you won't see him none with all these people coming." Sasha said of her quiet middle child. "That little potato is so shy, he... shh! shh! shh!" Sasha stopped mid-sentence and everybody stood silent and still. The big bellied soldier's eyes scanned the ceiling overhead listening to the thump of footfalls from upstairs. She startled everyone in the foyer when she barked with intimidating authority, "Abraham! I hear you going in that kitchen! Keep your fingers off those sandwiches!" Sasha and the girls stayed quiet a few beats longer until they heard the heavy stomp of her husband's feet heading in the other direction. Her guests giggled while Sasha rolled her eyes, "I swear he's worse than the damn kids."

Andrea asked, "So, Paul and Duncan dropped off the food?"

"Yeah, they were so sweet to handle the menu. I had Abe, Ty and Noah helping me set up the chairs and tables. They hung some of the streamers in the harder to reach spots." Sasha explained and pointed to their work. "I just need you guys to put on the finishing touches while I get dressed."

"Thanks drill sergeant, " Michonne said sarcastically, "but this is what we do for a living. I think we know what to do."

Soon enough, a throng of guests packed the basement and first floor of Abe and Sasha's three-story townhouse. Michonne had outdone herself with her attention to detail with the Pink Safari theme. Animal print was everywhere. Pastel pink leopard, giraffe and zebra print trimmed in white and khaki in honor of their imminent arrival. Large plush stuffed animals were positioned around the house with big balloon displays. Lush greenery gave the party an authentic African vibe. Even with Michonne's busy schedule and trying to get as much Rick as possible, she had put her all into the decor for this shower. It was one way she showed her love.

Right off the foyer, Rosita, Daryl, Carl, A.J. and Noah had migrated into the downstairs playroom for video games and trash talk. Carl watched nervously as Rosita and Daryl sat closer and closer to each other, paying less and less attention to the game. He was really hoping Carol wouldn't come downstairs and see. He knew the gray-haired chief of his dad's office and Daryl weren't a couple but the scene just gave him an uneasy feeling.

Beyond the playroom, past the half bath, Rick and Abe sat with Zeke and Heath watching a football game on the big screen. Rick sat in a calculated position on the sectional couch to admire his beautiful girlfriend just beyond the sliding glass doors to the patio. She sat near the orange flames of the fire pit with Deanna, Drea, Sasha and Sasha's belly which was a presence all it's own. Rick couldn't get over the fit of her jeans. Her brown leather riding boots make him think of Michonne as a jockey and he was fixated on getting her on his saddle later.

He watched her and smiled as she heartily laughed about how big Sasha had gotten. Michonne had seen Sasha carry three other babies but the incredible physical changes to her sister's body would never become a common sight to her. Sasha returned a little jab, commenting on how Michonne, herself, was looking a bit plumper. Deanna shushed them both, mentioning how the two of them looked radiant- Sasha with her pregnancy glow and Michonne with what must've been that permanent afterglow from that "good Rick Grimes loving", as Andrea pointed out.

Andrea felt a certain ache in her heart, wishing she was being illuminated in some way. Without Shane an uncommon darkness had settled over her. She got up to give herself a moment when Sasha asked for another plate of meatballs and pasta salad... and chicken wings... and few more meatballs. Michonne got up to help her friend with that food order, stopping to lean over the couch and plant a longer than intended kiss on Rick.

Andrea pretended not to see it as she made her way down the hall.

Upstairs in the living room, some folks who hadn't seen Maggie since the wedding were ooing and awwing over her and Glenn's honeymoon adventures in Thailand. Her southern charm had them all riveted, especially her husband who stood beside her grinning from ear to ear. Tyreese had taken up with Karen in a corner next to the life-sized albino gorilla in a pink tutu. They hit it off immediately and became the content of the conversation for the ladies a few feet away surrounding the kitchen island. Carol was making to go plates for Daryl and tidying the kitchen incessantly while running her mouth with Tara and Tara's girlfriend, Denise. It struck Tara how nice it was to see Carol shed her firm work exterior and just be one of the girls.

The more the merrier was Abe's rationale which could be translated as: the more people, the more gifts. There were a few of their fellow marines, Abe's family, a lot of Sasha's friends and cousins that she never really claimed. The gift table was overflowing with pretty printed gift bags, bursting with colorful tissue paper, and boxes in shiny gift wrap tied with bows. The two long food tables that flanked it were expertly decorated by Sasha's artful sister.

The house pumped with TLC's "Baby Baby Baby" and every song before or after made reference to _babies_ or _girls_ or _mamas,_ from LL Cool J's "Round the Way Girl" to "Hey Mama" by the Black Eyed Peas thanks to Carl making an awesome play list as his contribution to the party. Most of the songs were before his time, which he didn't sweat since most of the people at the shower were old like his dad.

When the doorbell rang well into the festivities, Andrea and Michonne were coming back downstairs with Sasha's plate and another plate for Rick. A.J. rushed to his job but his aunt was already opening the door to the sight of one very familiar curly coif and devilish grin.

"Bubba!" Michonne screamed as she jumped into his arms trying to balance Rick's sandwich on the plate through her excitement. Rick heard her happy shrill and, from his spot on the couch, he turned and saw the reason. He would normally groan seeing Shane show up. It always meant that he'd have to watch Michonne shower another guy with love. Rick knew it was strictly familial affection, but he couldn't help being jealous and Shane seemed to know it judging from the smug looks he always gave Michonne's boyfriend. Where Rick tried to hide his unreasonable resentment, Shane was very vocal about which one of them should get priority to Michonne's attention. In Shane's opinion, it was the one who loved her the longest, hands down.

Michonne always thought it was funny to watch them try to one up each other for her approval, but with her and Rick's reconciliation she wanted to make sure she made the extra effort to show more respect for her man and his feelings.

She jumped down from Shane's arms and plucked him in the forehead. "I thought you said you couldn't come."

"Ow! Thought I couldn't." He said following her into the house. He immediately met Andrea's eyes and she tried to no avail to hide the smile in them but Shane only gave her a "Hey, Drea" and let his eyes move on. When A.J. asked for his coat the latecomer said he couldn't stay. He'd just come to say hi and drop off his present for his niece. Michonne led him back to the patio, past Abe who stood up from the couch to give him a big bear hug, and Rick, who offered him a stiff handshake from his seat.

"Get over here, Mr. Manager!" Sasha said happily, held to her seat by gravity as she brought her Brother in for a hug.

"Manager?" Michonne gasped with pride.

"Yeah. I got the promotion. Yesterday and they already tryna work me like a slave." he said with a proud grin.

"Congratulations, Bubba!" Michonne said pinching his ear. "I can see it. You look like a manager... you still don't look like a man though, you pussy.

Shane lunged for her playfully and Sasha screamed for them to stop. "Don't start that foolishness up in here you two!"

Michonne stuck her tongue out at Shane and hid behind Sasha. He pointed at her menacingly and then looked back to the pregnant lady. "I just wanted to see y'all for a second. I gotta run but I'll see y'all at Mimi's for Thanksgivin'."

"Awww. Why can't you stay?" Michonne whined as she threw a knowing glance to Drea who was spying the scene from inside the house. Her heart was banging too loudly to come any closer to Shane and she deflated when she heard he wouldn't be there long.

"My friend's waitin' for me in the car."

"Go tell him to come in." Sasha commanded. But Shane looked back at Andrea with a strange melancholy and declined, reiterating that he couldn't stay. Andrea's heart went from a wild beat to a deep plummet as he hugged his sisters, preparing to leave.

When Shane passed her on his way out from the patio, Andrea spoke timidly to him in a low soft voice. "Congratulations, Bubba. You deserve it. See you at Thanksgiving."

"Yeah, Thanks Drea." He replied weakly but finally looked right at her. His sadness met hers, but there was something more than just sadness in his eyes.

Rick stood up and clapped Shane on the back, squeezing his shoulder. "I'll walk you out." Michonne smiled seeing Rick engage her brother in a friendly way. She was happy to see that he was trying to behave a little better for her as well. As they made it to the hallway, Rick stopped Shane. "I'm glad you came. I wanted to talk to you about something."

"And what's that?" Shane asked, skeptical of Rick's attention.

"I wanna talk to you about Michonne."

"Yeah?"

"Come with me I wanna show you something." Rick requested and Shane followed his jog up to the third floor den where A.J. had been storing all the coats. Rick found his in the pile and reached into the pocket of the camel colored sheepskin coat and pulled out a small velvet box. Shane drew his bottom lip into his mouth with a bit of instant worry. He knew what was in that box. He wasn't sure how he felt about it.

It wouldn't be enough to say he had mixed emotions. This is what he'd been saying he wanted for his sister. As much as he didn't like to share her, he knew he only felt that way about Rick because he could see that Rick was different and this was permanent. The box in his hands screamed that permanence even louder. He couldn't help his thoughts from shifting to Andrea. If Michonne got engaged, she'd be happy for her friend, but alone. Shane tried, all the time, to stop worrying about Andrea. _She made her decision. I moved on_ , he thought. But the feeling in his gut at the sight of that box proved he hadn't.

"What's that?" Shane asked aimlessly, trying to delay reality a little bit longer.

"I'm gonna ask your sister to marry me." Rick announced, still looking quietly at the closed box like it was too precious to open. "Wanna get your opinion on the ring."

"Well, you gotta open it so I can see it, numb nuts." Shane shot out a harmless insult to loosen Rick up a little... and also just to insult him in this vulnerable moment. His sister's boyfriend looked to him with a scowl that melted when he saw Shane's developing grin.

Rick opened the box with a slight crack from the hinges. The white gold engagement ring with a marquise shaped center stone haloed by diamonds, flanked by two trillion-shaped side stones and two marquise side diamonds dazzled even in the soft yellow lamplight in the den. Rick could rattle off the specs of the ring by heart. It was the best piece in the shop according to the jeweler who sold it to him and Rick had to agree, having looked at every engagement ring in the store to find something worthy of Michonne's finger.

For a moment, Rick and Shane went quiet taking it in as it sparkled. "I wanted to ask you... if you thought... do you think this is the right one?"

"I don't know shit about diamonds, man." Shane rubbed at his neck nervously as he studied the ring.

Rick unfolded a smile as he looked at Shane. "Look, man, I know me and you prob'ly won't never be best friends. But I know you love my girl and she loves you. That's a rare thang for Michonne... as I'm sure you know."

"Oh, it's more than rare." Shane gloated.

Rick only smiled. "Michonne loves me, more'n she loves you." He put up a hand to calm Shane before he took that statement as a challenge. "I mean, it's a deeper kind of love than a brother an' a sister." Rick's voice went low enough to break. "She's gonna be my wife and if God shows me some mercy for past mistakes... maybe he'll trust me to make a family with 'er." Rick blew out a reverential breath. "I never got a chance t' meet Morgan. I guess I would be sayin' this stuff to him if he were still here... but..." Rick thought, "maybe not... I'd prob'ly still be talkin' t' you."

"You askin' me permission to pop the question?" Shane asked, his brow raised in shock as he pointed to himself.

"I am." Rick confirmed as it dawned on him how much he'd inherited his father's conventional leanings. "I'd appreciate ya blessin'."

They both fought back tears as Shane tried to compose himself to answer. "Swear to God you gonna do right by 'er, man." Shane demanded. "If she trusts you enough t' say yes, you better fuckin' protect my sister 'til your last." Shane felt a swell of righteous anger and his hands involuntarily became fists. Just the thought of Michonne coming so close to a happy ending and having it snatched away made him ready to throw a punch at Rick for even having that power. "Swear to God." he repeated as a tear fell.

Rick nodded, "I swear it. She's meant for me." he repeated with a husky voice full of devotion, "I swear it."

"Then... marry my sister, man." Shane approved nodding vigorously, wiping his eyes. He chuckled, "And good fuckin' luck."

Rick laughed, knowing he'd need more than luck to survive life with Michonne. But he also knew he had a lot more than luck on his side to make it this far in the first place. Shane grabbed him by the neck and gave him a hug, they broke away from each other and Rick put the little box back in his coat pocket.

Rick was proud of himself. His business was doing more than well. His son was growing into a good man and now he had secured the final and central piece to his puzzle. He was on the cusp of making Michonne his wife and what's more, her brother was on board. Now all he wanted to do was enact his grand plan for the perfect proposal and watch her reaction, as he intended to shower her with all the love he could muster.

* * *

 **A/N: I did too much again, but if you will permit me... Part Two awaits.**


	15. Chapter 15

Baby Shower: Part Two

"So, when you gonna do it?" Shane asked Rick, with a more upbeat tone than he'd started the clandestine huddle with.

"I was thinkin' Thanksgiving since all y'all are gonna be there. I think she'd like that..." the statement came out a question.

"Yeah. I think she would, too." They smiled at each other, bonding over the woman who had been their main reason for contention since they'd met. Then they turned to the door and saw her standing there. Rick skittishly wondered how long she'd been there and if she'd heard anything. He held his breath, hoping he could still surprise her with the ring.

His fears were quickly put to rest when she asked with curious eyes,

"Everything okay in here?"

They both answered yes. Michonne didn't quite buy that answer but then she remembered her reason for coming to find them, "There's a lady looking for you downstairs." she said to Shane.

He sucked his teeth and looked at his watch. "Yeah, we're gonna be late." Shane started out the den, but Michonne grabbed his arm to stop him.

"You're dating somebody?" without giving him a chance to respond, she drilled him, "Why didn't you tell me? What about Blondie, Shane?" She called him by his given name, still sympathetically feeling the pain in Andrea's eyes when she'd seen the pretty lady at the front door asking for the man she was ready to reconcile with.

"She broke up with me, Mimi. Remember?" He said hoping this wouldn't turn into a thing. "Ain't she dating other people, too?

"Not seriously. She's still single."

Shane scoffed, "I gotta go." He planted a farewell kiss on her forehead and proceeded past the bedrooms, to the lady he'd left waiting.

"Shane?" Michonne called after him, but Rick pulled Michonne back from badgering him further.

"Michonne, you can't make them be t'gether." Rick whispered to her.

Another door in the hall cracked open and Ali stuck his brassy-colored head out of his room investigating the dreary scene. "Hey, Ali." Rick forced a smile. Michonne did as well.

"Hey, pumpkin." she winked and Ali waved, then quickly shut his door. His cute little face settled Michonne momentarily. "I know I can't make them be together, Rick. I just want him to wait for her... like you did for me. He loves her."

"Swee'heart. If he really loves 'er, he will." Rick looked into her eyes, promising her. But Michonne knew what Andrea had always said about Shane and Rick was true. Shane wasn't like Rick. Shane was like Michonne. And though she was a work in progress, the new and improved Michonne was experiencing growth because Rick had helped her make the right choices with a little tough love. She figured she needed to help her brother, too.

Shane hadn't gotten far. Tyreese had stopped him in the living room to say hello before he could get to the next flight of stairs. Shane just hugged him and promised they'd talk at Thanksgiving, leaving his brother abruptly. Michonne was following hotly behind him with Rick trailing her when Carl met them on the steps.

"Dad, mom's here." Carl said with a face full of confusion and urgency. Michonne was so intent on questioning Shane she didn't catch what Carl said. Rick looked at his son, thinking he'd misheard. He wrinkled his face as Michonne slipped from his grasp.

"What?"

"I said mom's here." the young man stretched his eyes trying to make his father understand.

Michonne, Rick and Carl came down to the front door one after another as Shane apologized to the thin, dark-haired woman standing at the door.

"Sorry." He told her. "Let's get goin'." Shane started to push her gently, but hurriedly toward the door trying to escape Michonne. The woman looked dumbstruck as she tried turning to Shane for answers.

Andrea stood where Michonne had left her, in the foyer with Shane's "friend". Tears forming in her eyes and she looked like she would be sick at any moment.

"Shane!" Michonne called him back venturing to sound as pleasant as possible to avoid a scene. "Can I talk to you before you go?" she forced a smile.

"I'll see you at Thanksgiving, Mimi." Shane responded without even looking back.

The woman Shane was ushering out, found the owner of the voice calling after her boyfriend coming from the stairs. Behind Michonne, she saw the man she'd hoped to find when she ran into her son at a stranger's house. "Rick?" she called up to him.

"Lori? What're you doin' here?" He asked her, already irritated with Michonne and Shane. He felt Carl breathing down his neck. He heard the chatter of the party die down as people hushed to figure out what was going on, leaving Mariah Carey to belt out "Always Be My Baby" over the awkward moment.

"She asked for Shane." Carl informed him in a whisper.

Lori looked to Rick with a slack-jawed gaze and stuttered, "I came... I was just... I just came in to get Shane. We were gonna be late."

Shane was still somewhat slow to catch on to what Michonne and Andrea seemed to understand. "Y'all know each other?" He asked Lori, gesturing between her and Rick.

"Rick... is my ex." She struggled to say for some reason.

"Wait, wait, wait." Shane rubbed a frustrated hand through his curly pompadour. _This_ is your ex-husband? _Rick_ is? This is the guy that treated you like shit? Who _beat_ you like a dog?!" He asked Lori, the tremor of his voice rising with each question.

"Beat you?" Rick repeated, looking to Lori for an explanation. "You told him I beat you?"

Before Lori could answer, Shane addressed Rick through the grit of his teeth, "You might as well take that ring back where you got it from. Ain't no way in hell you're gonna marry my sister. She'll take your name over my dead body! I should clock your ass for what you did to Lori!"

By now Abraham and Daryl had come into the crowded entryway.

"What's going on out here?" the big homeowner demanded. "Shane? Rick?"

The guests upstairs were gathering at the top of the steps to see what all the commotion was about. Tyreese started making his way down the steps, hoping he could calm his brother down.

"What's he talkin' 'bout dad?" Carl asked his father then looked at Lori, "Mom?"

"I have no idea, son." Rick answered, looking at Lori like she was a witch at her cauldron.

"You're getting married?" Lori ignored Carl's question and sifted through all the chaos for that little nugget. "Is that why you moved to the city?"

That incomprehensible transition had baffled Lori since he told her he was going to rent out his house. The only reason he'd told her that much was so she wouldn't come there looking for him. But now things were starting to make sense as Rick grabbed Michonne's hand and looked back at his ex-wife with strong distaste.

Michonne turned to Rick, "What ring?"

Rick's shoulders sank and he sighed. His surprise was ruined. He wouldn't be able to give Michonne the proposal he wanted to give her. Lori was violating his happiness again and he was being accused of violence against women- a thing that made him sick to his stomach. He completely ignored Shane's threat and went right to the usual source of mayhem in his life. "Lori, can I talk to you outside?" he asked as politely as possible through clenched teeth.

Shane stopped Rick from approaching his girlfriend with a shove to his chest.

"Shane!" Michonne and Lori cried out together, nervously.

"No. You don't get to talk to her. Ever. You stay away from her and you stay away from my sister!" Shane pointed hard into Rick's chest.

"Look, calm down, Shane." Rick took a step back, not wanting to provoke Michonne's brother further. He didn't want to fight, especially since all this was Lori's doing. "Lori, you don't think you should clear thangs up for your boyfriend?"

"I told you, you don't talk to her!" Shane barked.

Lori looked into Rick's frozen eyes. She hadn't meant for this to happen. She was actually trying to keep this thing with Shane a secret from Carl and Rick. Rick still did a lot for her and she didn't want to jeopardize his help in her life. His sense of duty for his son's single mother resulted in a lot of perks for her. She knew if he found out she was with someone, he'd be more than willing to let the new guy take over everything that wasn't directly Carl-related.

This whole thing with Shane was just something she wanted to do for herself- a little fun whenever Carl was away. She had no idea when Shane said he had to make a stop to his sister's, that Rick would be there. She definitely didn't know Rick was dating anyone... and marriage?! She wasn't the only one keeping secrets. Carl obviously knew all about it and hadn't told her anything. She felt betrayed.

She did wish Carl wasn't there to hear the lies she'd been telling Shane. She didn't want things to get out of control, especially with her son there. But the situation was what it was. She began to think maybe she could use all of this to her advantage.

It was clear that Carl was in total support of his father's relationship with this woman. _Where does that leave me?_ But if Carl began to think that his father had been pulling the wool over his eyes, like they'd done to her, it might just bring him back to her side.

That's what Lori relied on: people's pity, playing the underdog to get what she wanted. She was so different from Michonne, who only revealed her grim past after she gave Rick a special place in her heart and found a place in his. Maybe Lori had no way into a person's heart other than deception. Maybe she could've if she tried. Ultimately, though, she chose to be a burrower, a parasite, a heart-worm.

She wasn't about to give up her advantage in playing the victim, she tore her eyes off Rick who was staring her down with an icy glare. "Let's just go, Shane." She pulled her boyfriend away.

Shane looked at Rick with enough ire to burn him to the ground. Before he could leave he had to try and square his decision for a new relationship with Michonne. "I ain't gettin' no younger, Mimi. I already wasted enough time with Drea. _She_ broke _my_ heart." Shane said to Michonne in earshot of the entire party and Andrea covered a gasp and ran back, crying, through the patio doors.

Sasha tried to catch her but she was too slow. She nodded for Abe to go out there and be with her and her husband went, reluctant to leave his wife in that powder keg.

"And now, this asshole is wastin' _your_ time." He spoke to Michonne while invading Rick's personal space. "Cuz I'm not gonna let my sister throw her life away." Shane continued. "Forget it!" he pushed Rick again and Daryl stepped forward, ready. "You want somethin'?" Shane challenged Rick's best friend.

"You let me know." Daryl rasped.

"Y'all stop it!" Sasha reprimanded them both.

"Dad!" Carl was sweating, from his vantage point on the steps. He didn't know if Shane was any good with a punch, but he knew his dad was quick and with Daryl backing him up, he feared Shane was about to get a few dings. He knew that would upset Michonne and he couldn't have that. The high schooler decided if someone didn't put a stop to this soon, he'd have to step in.

Rick made eye contact with Daryl and gave a slight shake of his head, backing his partner off- for now.

"Just go 'head, Shane." Tyreese encouraged him to think about the situation. "Don't do this at our sister's house... in front of her friends... and your nephews, man." The big man nodded to A.J. holding Duke's hand, protectively.

Shane gnashed his teeth but remained silent as he held the door for Lori and left. Everyone seemed to let out a collective breath as he slammed the door shut behind him.

Michonne checked to make sure Rick and Carl were okay and then immediately went to Andrea, who was crying her eyes out in Abraham's chest.

"You know I love my brother-in-law," Abraham tried to comfort her, "but dick comes a dime a dozen. Don't you worry, Blondie."

"I got her, Abe." Michonne took over for Sasha's obscenely expressive husband and offered some useful words to her friend. She brought Andrea into her arms and shushed her sobbing. "I'll talk to him, Blondie. He still loves you. It'll work out." She rocked her friend like a baby and, after a few minutes, Andrea began to calm down.

While she tried to convince Andrea not to give up hope, Michonne saw Rick approaching her. He was wearing his coat and an invisible dark cloud over his head. There was something on his mind and she lifted her brow in anticipation of what he might say. As he got closer, she could see how angry he was, but he was angry in a way that she'd never seen before. He looked green around the gills and Michonne felt for him. "I'll be right back, Blondie." She let Andrea go and reached for Rick like she was snatching him out of a fire. "What's wrong, babe?" she said pulling him to the side.

"I'm gonna go." He said, not looking her in the eye.

"Boo, listen, don't worry about Shane, he'll be alright." She promised nonchalantly. "He's just stubborn and he thinks he knows something I don't. He'll be mad a couple days. Then we'll all sit down, talk it out... everything'll be back to normal by turkey day." She said optimistically.

"I'm still gonna go." He was embarrassed.

Michonne sucked her teeth. "Okay. Well, I'll come with you."

"No. Stay here with your fam'ly. I asked Tara to bring you home, so no one has to go outta their way."

"I don't want to stay without you, Rick. So I'll get my coat."

"Chonne you don't have to..."

"A.J.!" She interrupted his protest and called the little coat mule. "Bring auntie her coat, please." They watched him sprint away with his orders and Michonne turned back to Rick. "So..." She chased his gaze, making him look at her, not allowing him to feel ashamed with her. " ...that was the infamous Lori? She's a piece of work, huh?" she joked. "Whew!"

Michonne was being adorable but Rick couldn't shake the wretched feeling of failure. All he ever wanted to do was make sure Lori never slithered into his happiness with Michonne. He didn't want that disease of a woman to ever infect Michonne's life.

Unfortunately, he was a carrier, him and his son. He'd went to great lengths to remove Lori from even the fringes of his woman's life. And she still found a way in. Looking at the brightness in Michonne's face, he could see she had no idea the damage his ex-wife could do. "Michonne." Rick called her name, grabbing her attention. "I don't wanna ruin your night."

"Then don't." She said matter-of-factly. "And don't argue with me." Michonne grabbed him by his sweater and pulled him to her puckered lips. "I gotta feelin' we're making hist'ry here t'night." She spoke with his accent referencing a comment he made on their first date. "My brother said somethin' 'bout a _rang."_

She jokingly patted his pants pockets down, making sure to squeeze his sweet little ass in the process. Rick just shook his head as he looked to see if anyone was watching. Her fingers crept into his coat pockets and she gasped with excitement when she felt the small fuzzy box. "Rick!" She immediately pulled her hands away and stood up straight before him. Her eyes were wide and her lips were parted with bated breath. "You...?"

Her expression melted him enough to smile. "I what?"

"You _really_ got me a ring?"

He wished he could rewind the past hour- his entire life, in fact, and give her more than a ring. What if he could give her all the years he spent with Lori? What if he could just phase her into that picture twenty years ago. Carl would be hers and they'd have a mini-van full of kids. They'd have a house with the colorful little hand prints of their amateur artists on the walls and loud music always playing... He snapped out of his daydream.

"Of course." He kissed her back.

"Can I have it?"

"I planned to..." He sighed. "But... You want me to just give it to you?"

"Yeah!" she giggled quietly with tears in her eyes.

He was penitent and she, of course, was impatient. But he could see she was still with him and in those seconds they were an island in the room. People were all around them but this was their moment. They didn't share it with a single being but God.

The song playing was not what Rick would have picked and he chuckled as the old school rap song pounded indelicately through what should have been a perfect moment... but somehow it still was.

 **Momma said knock you out**

 **I'm gonna knock you out**

"You don't even have to ask me. You know my answer already."

It killed the traditionalist in him to do it this way. She deserved more than this. But...

Rick threw his head back and blew out a long groan, letting go of the way he'd hoped this proposal would go.

The box was in his hand now and Michonne's tender honey-colored eyes were on him.

She forgot, at first, to get a look at the ring. She was more absorbed in the precious brilliance of his eyes. She tried to swallow but all her brain function seemed to be amplifying her heartbeat. She pulled her hand away from his and it trembled at her lips until Rick reminded her that he actually needed that hand to accomplish giving her the ring. She snorted a goofy giggle and returned her fingers to his hand.

The ring was at the tip of her finger now and she watched him slide it down into it's place at her knuckle. Rick was already thinking of a way to make this disaster up to her and Michonne was already thinking of a way to show her appreciation for the way he kept this night from being a total disaster. _When we get home..._ they both independently decided.

Her arms were around his neck now and he tightened his embrace around her waist, crushing her against him hungrily. Michonne breathed him in and closed her eyes as his scent blissfully drugged her. It seemed like they'd been face to face in that spot for hours but it had only been minutes. Just long enough for A.J. to get back with her coat.

 _She's a literal goddess and this is the best you could do, Grimes?_ he thought to himself and like a literal goddess, she read his mind.

"Thanks, daddy." Michonne whispered into his shearling lapel. "You did good."

The car ride home was unusually relaxed for all the commotion of the evening.

Carl asked a lot of questions that couldn't be answered without making his mom look like Cruella De Ville. The most Rick could say about the whole thing, without lying to his son, was that he was just as confused as Carl was.

The next thing the growing interrogator wanted to know was, if Shane could stop them from getting married like he'd said. There was an easy answer to that question. Michonne turned slightly and threw her arm across the back of Rick's seat, casually dangling her diamond-heavy hand in front of Carl's face. She giggled when he looked up from scrolling his phone and shock lit up his face.

"Whoa! It looks so much cooler on her finger, dad. You were right." Michonne switched her view from Carl to Rick and back to Carl again as she took in his words. "But I thought you were gonna wait til Thanksgiving?"

Rick scoffed and eyed him in the rear-view mirror, "That was the plan... but she's too impatient."

Michonne swatted their sexy chauffeur, then realized, "Wait, Carl? You already knew?"

Her biggest fan smirked at the reflection of his father's glinting blues and answered her with his dad's famous line, "It's my job to know things."

Michonne's face cracked with a tenacious smile as she flippantly turned back to the view of the city streets, "Then you know me and your dad are going straight to bed when we get home and you should put in your ear buds."

"Michonne!" Rick called her name censuring her inappropriate remark through an incredulous chuckle.

"What?... He said it's his job to know!" Michonne faked innocence.

Rick glanced to his son, who was grinning with the pretty ringleader. "Why're y'all like this?" His parental sensibilities faltered and he joined the wicked laughter of his favorite rebel and her little minion.

* * *

"Michonne I can't believe you're takin' Rick's side in this!" Shane's voice was low but no less insistent. "As much as you talk feminism and preach women stickin' together. He really has you brainwashed. Which, by the way, is a classic sign of an abuser."

"Bubba, listen to me." Michonne stopped slicing through the onions on her cutting board and leaned over the edge of her kitchen island to speak as if Shane was on the other side. "I am not brainwashed and I'm not blinded by love! Rick would never do what Lori is saying."

"How do you know? Huh? You've known him what? Eight months? And you don't have no doubts about him? Even after all the stuff I told you he did!"

"How do _you_ know he did that stuff? Maybe Lori is lying?"

He looked over to Lori who was pretending to be asleep on his couch. "Why would she? What does she get out of lyin' to me?"

"I don't know." Michonne realized. _Maybe she's a fucking lunatic,_ she thought to herself.

"But, let's see, what does your boyfriend get out of lyin'?" Shane asked sarcastically, "Another woman he don't deserve." Lori smiled secretly at his estimation of her.

Michonne had to admit it. Rick had more to lose from this, still things didn't add up to that conclusion for her. "But Bubba, you know me." she reminded him dramatically, "I'm a pain in the ass! If he hasn't hit me yet, trust me, he's not going to. I've been a jerk to him... a lot... and he barely raises his voice." She attempted a bit of humor, "You beat me up more than Rick does."

"That ain't funny, Mimi." He wouldn't bend. His voice went low with solemnity, "You know what happened to my mother. You think Imma let that happen to you? I can't go back to prison but that's where I'll be if I find out he put his hands on you."

Then Michonne got it. As much as this was about her, this was more about his mother. Shane was eight again. Maybe he felt like if he could stop Michonne from marrying Rick it'd be redemption for what happened with his step-dad.

She could hear in his voice, he really was scared that he'd end up back in prison. He shouldn't have made it out the first time, he knew he wouldn't be that lucky again.

"Mallet never used to raise his voice either. He was cold and calculatin'." Shane remembered with a shiver down his spine. "She'd have bruises and I wouldn't know where they came from. I never thought they were comin' from him..." he scoffed at his guileless ignorance, "until I saw him knock her outta her chair at the dining room table in the middle 'a dinner for no reason. He was drinkin' that night and slipped up."

"Bubba, I know you been through hell." Michonne acknowledged, assuming it was harder to lose a mother you loved, than to never really know the mother you lost. "But, Rick loves his scotch and his whiskey and whatever else y'all drink. He's never... Even Carl said..."

"So, you won't listen t' me at all?" He cut her off, sounding so defeated and helpless. "You wont listen t' me but you want me t' dump Lori and get back with Andrea?

"You act like Drea beats you Shane! She just felt a little rushed. That's all... and I know you don't love Lori and more to the point, I know you still love Blondie!" she asserted then changed her tone, "I'm confused. You're the one who told me to find a guy serious about me. I did! He is. _You_ don't know what Lori did to _him_! It's nothing like what happened between you and Blondie." Michonne promised.

"You keep sayin' that but you won't tell me what she did to him!"

Lori stiffened at those words. For a long time, Rick had kept the truth of what happened between them to himself. To her, it was his way of claiming the high road even though he stooped pretty low at times in their marriage. From what Shane was saying, Rick had told Michonne and if Michonne told Shane... well, Lori reasoned, if Michonne was going to say something, she would've by now. But just in case Rick's wife-to-be wasn't as liberal as he was... her mind started to race for an explanation Shane would believe.

"It's not my place." Michonne wanted to tell him so bad.

She wanted to expose Lori and see her fiancé exonerated. But Rick wouldn't let her. Rick thought Shane wouldn't believe it anyway and, talking to him now, Michonne was starting to believe Rick's analysis. He said it's better for karma to catch up with Lori. And if karma owed anyone, it was Lori. If karma does take your intent into account, his ex-wife was destined for a fall that would shake the earth.

But in the meantime, it was hard to watch her sit pretty with her brother while she drove them apart with her lies. "I'm worried about _you."_ Michonne leveled, _"_ Be careful with that girl."

"Be careful? Why?" Shane chuckled and Lori didn't like where their conversation seemed to be heading, so she decided to get him off the phone with Michonne. "She wants a fam'ly, like I do, Mimi. And I ain't gotta wait for 'er or convince 'er... or make more money."

"I guess not. That child support check is fat." Michonne mumbled.

The big bauble on her finger that she'd been adoring for days was proof that Lori was making out like a bandit from her 25% of Rick's wages. But he never begrudged giving it, even though he knew there was no way she could spend that much on just Carl. "Drea wasn't demanding that you make more money, just that you make smart decisions for the family she wanted with _you_." Michonne clarified. "Just watch her, Bubba. Remember, you know fake when you see it."

"Don't marry 'um, Mimi." Was all Shane could think to say.

She left it at that and tried again to get him away from Lori for a few hours the next day. "So, you really won't come to dinner? My _first_ Thanksgiving dinner? I'm cooking everything myself." She said proudly as she started on the celery.

"Is that supposed t' make me _want_ t' come?" He chuckled.

"Ha ha..." Michonne relaxed feeling a little hopeful at his banter. "See... let's do that... let's tease each other and argue about stupid stuff and laugh and just be happy."

Lori came up behind him and pushed her fingers through his hair, kissing his neck and rubbing his chest. "I love you Mimi. But I can't be there if he is. I gotta go."


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Hey everybody, Thanks for coming back for more. So before we get back to all the drama from that baby shower, let's go back in time again. There's no Lori in this chapter (Yay!) but your other best friend is back (Booooo!) lol**

 **~comewithnattah**

* * *

"When I was little I thought my mother was crazy. I used to be scared to death of her. Not cuz she used to beat my ass... she _did_ used to beat my ass... but I deserved it cuz I was a got-damn kleptomaniac! One time I stole my grandma's dentures. I put 'em under my pillow, ready to wake up richer than a muh'fucka the next morning."

The stocky, bald-headed man on stage explained over the loud laughter.

He continued, "I thought I was on a come up y'all. I thought the tooth fairy was gonna pull up in my room in a damn Brinks truck."

He pretended to control the steering wheel of a big rig while bobbing his head to an insinuated beat.

"My grandma had more teeth than anybody. More than me cuz I was missing two and more than my momma who ain't have none in the back of 'er mouth! I figured, grandma stingy ass ain't need all 'em teeth. She ain't even wear them all the time. Just when she went to church. Figured by the time grandma realized I stole her teeth, I'd be on a beach in the Bahamas rubbing coconut oil on Rudy from the Cosby show, living large."

The spectators all agreed with raucous crowing and clapping at the mention of the Cosby Show's nostalgia.

"I was 10 y'all!" The comic excused his over the top dreams, sweating under the stage lights. "Needless to say, I got the ass whoopin' of the century! If I woulda been a white kid, I woulda divorced my momma for that ass whoopin'."

"But, I thought my mother had multiple personalities or something." He recalled getting back to his point. "She would be screaming at us like a pterodactyl 'bout leaving a sip of juice in the fridge,"

He put his hand on his hip and assumed a high-pitched feminine voice. "Who dun drunk up all'a da dern juice? Left a dern sip! What I'm 'posed to do? Do a shot of dern Sunny D? Disrespectful asses!" he mocked his mother's temper.

"And then the phone would ring and she'a put on the _white voice."_ Everybody screamed in unison, familiar with the white voice. "Momma 'a be like," the comic switched his voice again, "Yes, this is she..."

He dropped his affected voice to explain, "Whenever she said _this is she_ I would be like, Yes! She back! My real momma! On the phone my mother would be like,"

He returned to his pretend voice,

"Not at this time... mmhmm... perhaps... well when would be especially convenient for you? That sounds wonderful! Oh, I am more than pleased! Well, I will see you then! Enjoy this beautiful day! Bye-bye now."

The manly voice took over, "And I would be standing there with big excited eyes, waiting to talk to my more _civilized_ mother... her alternate personality... and then she would turn around like,

The comedian concluded the joke reprising the role of his mother, furiously irritated, "The hell you want 'lil boy? All in my dern mouth! I know you the one drunk all the dern Sunny D!"

Michonne was cackling with everyone else in the comedy club. Her friend Teddy, who went by T-dog, was killing on stage. He always called to let her know he was going to be in town and she always caught his set and they'd have dinner after. She was so proud of him and excited for his success.

But Teddy was secretly in love with Michonne, had been for a long time. He just always punked out whenever he had the opportunity to tell her. He decided this time around he was going to let her know- stop being a little bitch.

Too bad for him he waited too long, because the man sitting beside her in the dark little basement club had swept her all the way off her feet on a blessed spring day. It was mid-summer now and her life was brand new. She had a "white son" who thought she was the coolest thing since wi-fi. She was weeks from winning her bet with Andrea. She was so happy and content in the time she spent with Rick Grimes sometimes it felt like she had never had another man in her life, only him.

They hadn't said I love you yet. Michonne was still trying to hold on to the crumbling remnants of her protective exoskeleton and Rick played along. He was waiting to gain her complete trust. With all she'd been through, he understood how big a bridge she needed to fill that gap to her heart. He didn't think the formalities were as important as the realities. They both knew this was a done deal, no matter how cool Michonne tried to play it.

She looked at him now, hoping he was enjoying himself. She wasn't entirely convinced that he always got black humor. She saw a hint of a chuckle when the contours of his wide chest and the stacked blocks of his abs contracted every now and then. She relaxed happy that he found some amusement in the jokes. But zeroing in on his body, distracted her momentarily.

She let her eyes commute over his pectorals as he slouched confidently against the backrest of the little wooden chair. His long legs gaped and her eyes lingered for a moment at the protrusion laying flaccid in his lap under his denim. She sat wedged under his arm for protection from the furious air conditioning, fighting the stifling summer night, while his big warm hands kept her arm from the chill but gave her goosebumps, nonetheless.

He was so handsome, by the time she came back to the show, T-Dog was well into the set up for his next joke. Rick was wearing his army green t-shirt and Michonne was happy to see it again. She could never get tired of the way the soft texture cradled his toned body. He sported a pair of Levi's and his favorite all black, hi-top Chuck Taylor's. Normally, the men she dated would have never even lounged around the house in such a basic outfit.

But Rick could surely pull it off. And it always caught Michonne off guard to see him in any setting-

He could be loading his dishwasher, in a file cabinet at work, or flipping through channels with the remote-

He was always looking like a magazine cover.

He had an effortless rugged style. Still, she had been trying to convince him to let her take him on a little shopping trip for a whole new wardrobe, but Rick's traditional values would not permit his girlfriend to spend large amounts of her money on him. That was his job. Besides he'd gone shopping with Michonne before, and knew well there was no such thing as a _little_ shopping as far as she was concerned. She was always excessive.

Michonne definitely knew that he didn't pay much attention to _his_ wardrobe but he was highly observant of everything _she_ wore. Whenever he brought her anything, it was inevitably something she would have picked and always the right size.

Their chemistry and all his attentiveness had Michonne looking forward to doing more to his body than simply stare in amazement, but she wasn't rushing anything. She realized she had several fantasies in her playbook that would qualify for their first time. But waiting made her more aware that a forever with Rick was the fantasy she thought about most. She had to thank Maggie for the clear mind self-control brought her. It afforded her the opportunity to really get to KNOW her boyfriend like she never took the time to know a man before.

She was learning that as generous as he was, he could hold a grudge like nobody's business. She got the impression that as much as he idolized his late father, he didn't want to be like him- a man that everybody liked but nobody respected. He was hardworking and focused. He was cool-headed and brave yet, afraid of failure.

He wasn't necessarily a people-pleaser but, she noticed, that anybody who didn't like Rick had to put a lot of effort into it. No one had a natural aversion to him. He was fair and lenient whenever he could be but he was exacting and uncompromising with repeat offenders in his professional and personal life. For a while, she was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but by now Michonne had just decided that he was the guy that was meant for her and she wasn't going to fight it.

When the lights came up, the crowd funneled out past the bar area into the lobby. Rick sat her at a stool and excused himself, heading to the bathrooms on the other side of the lobby. The bartender asked if he could get her anything and she declined.

"You sure you don't want my number?" the tall good-looking keep asked and Michonne told him she was waiting for her boyfriend. "Damn. Can I wait wit 'chu?" he persisted until she heard someone call her name from behind her. She turned to look and the man behind the bar went back to work assuming the man headed over to her was the boyfriend she mentioned.

"Aye, Mimi!" the deep voice called through the thinning throng. Michonne craned her neck to see Mike emerging from the shufflers making their exit. Terry was trailing behind him shaking his head. He had tried to stop him from saying anything to her, as conversations with her were normally Mike's undoing. But Mike seemed to be a glutton for punishment. Michonne was like a bright light and after a few months of being in the shade, Mike was like a buzzing gnat just trying to get next to her.

"Hey, Mike. Hey, Terry." She gave them both obligatory hugs from her perch.

"You drinking now?" Terry wondered out loud about her seat at the bar.

"Oh yeah?" Mike said excitedly before she could answer. "Let me get that for you, then. I always wanted to see you tipsy." he laughed at the image it conjured in his mind. He was already more than a little tipsy himself.

Terry was more skeptical. "Who you here with, Mimi?" He made a quick scan of the crowd.

"My boyfriend." She said emphatically, finally getting a word in edgewise. She nodded to the appearance of Rick returning just behind the two best friends.

"What boyfriend?" Mike asked as Rick slipped between he and Terry.

"Scuse me." Rick said, turning, once he stood beside his woman, to see who her admirers were. "Hey... um Mike, right? And Terry. How's it goin'?" Rick asked with no more than the minimal amount of courtesy.

"Chillin'." Mike gave his most pedestrian response.

Rick could see a little recognition there, but Mike couldn't precisely place the older man's face after so many Henney and Cokes. "Rick... security from you guys' party." He helped Mike recall, then he helped him fall back when he came closer to his lady's cheek, keeping Mike in his sights and Michonne laid her plump juicy lips on his.

"Oh, Shit." Terry whispered to himself, anxiously. He remembered vividly how Rick had come out to the pool area at their party and easily shut down everything popping off. "Well, it was good seeing you Mimi." Terry rushed to go. "You look nice. See y'all later. Let's go, Mike."

"Yeah, she looking real good, ain't she?" Mike agreed and looked her up and down as though the woman had never mentioned the 'rock'em sock'em cowboy' standing right beside her. The alcohol had him disregarding his perimeters, but in truth, Michonne looked good enough to make a sober man take a step over the line.

She was in a white tight fitting maxi dress with a high collar and exposed shoulders. She wore a long beaded necklace in yellow, green and red. The same colors of her kente cloth head wrap lifting her locs to spill out the top of the fabric, twisted crown. Her large red wooden earrings hung in the shape of circles on the sides of her gorgeous face. Mike craned his neck to the side to see her thickness sitting pretty on the stool. "Almost look as good as me."

Michonne laughed at Mike's cocky, drunken demeanor and admitted, "Yeah. You on point tonight, too." He wore a t-shirt like Rick did, but where Rick had no doubt paid less than 20 bucks for his, Mike had shelled out at least 40. With a fresh shape up, fitted camel-colored suit and silk pocket square, he stood out from the crowd.

"Us together... we used to be dressed to murder the entire game. Didn't we, Mimi?" Mike said proudly of their former union. Then looked to Rick arrogantly, "Your boyfriend can't keep up, I guess.

That was obviously a dig at his attire, an insignificant dig that sailed pass Rick like ashes on the wind. The humbly dressed man smirked condescendingly and shook his head. "I ain't tryna keep up. I'd rather pay attention to how pretty _she_ is 'stead'a bein' pretty myself." Rick mocked Mike's playboy persona. "I heard'a guys that're better in their mirrors than they are in bed. A guy like that prob'ly ends up losin' his girl to somebody else. I seen it happen, man." Rick mockingly warned the very man he spoke of.

Mike wasn't expecting Rick to roast him so thoroughly even though he set himself up so nicely for it. Michonne looked back at her man surprised and impressed at the skillful pettiness he'd apparently been keeping to himself all this time. All Mike could come back with was a dirty look as Terry changed a snort of laughter to an unconvincing sneeze.

"We better get outta here, kinfolk. Get outside to wait for this UBER and everything..." Mike's friend tried to leave again. But Mike lingered.

"So, you happy then, Mimi?" He wanted to hear her say it.

"I'm very happy." Michonne confirmed, smiling coquettishly with a shrug of her shoulder, nuzzling closer to Rick.

Before Mike could say anything else they all turned to another male voice calling Michonne's name.

It was T-Dog happily sauntering over to her despite the huddle of men blocking his path. Michonne got up, leaving her boyfriend's cuddling and running right between Mike and Terry to greet him with a hug. "Classic Mimi." Teddy shook his head, used to such odds for her attention.

Rick was not fond of the scene.

But he put on a friendly smile as Michonne brought her friend over and introduced them all by name only. Rick patiently waited for Michonne to identify him as her boyfriend, but it seemed to slip her mind. He leaned on the bar, trying to give her the benefit of the doubt as he watched her operate.

Mike and Terry brought Teddy in for the customary half-body hug after their hands connected with loud elaborate slaps. Rick offered Teddy a sociable shake of the hand with a lot less flair. The difference in the greetings led Rick to ask the other three guys, "Y'all know each other?"

"Nah man we don't _all_ know each other." T-Dog joked, as usual. Everyone, including Michonne, laughed in a common bond over the racial innuendo.

"You know my man right here is a fed." Mike was happy to inform the comedian. "So we all look alike to him."

"Aw man. I know Mimi always got a gang of dudes throwing roses at her feet like she from Zamunda or something. I mean, I seen these biscuits from my dressing room..." T-Dog referred to Michonne's rounded backside with a fascinated glance. "I expect her to be surrounded by mad sausage. That's normal for Mimi. But I ain't know bacon was on the plate too."

Rick had no idea what Zamunda was, but he understood the mention of bacon. He scoffed, pushing down his irritation with the way Michonne found humor in the trivial poke against authority.

Rick knew well that his woman liked to tease and laugh. The rowdier her company, the more badly behaved she became. It was a thing he often forgave when she was with her brother and Andrea, but the mood of this conversation was creeping closer and closer to blatant disrespect.

'He's not a cop." Michonne finally spoke up. "He _owns_ a security consulting firm." She spoke with a pretentious tone her boyfriend had never heard before. That seemed to have more to do with her image than it had to do with actually being proud of Rick. He knew that was directly in response to Mike's presence.

"Oh, security... like fake police?" T-dog compared, "So, like turkey bacon."

They all laughed at his expense and Michonne seemed to have switched sides all together, even physically as she stood between Mike and Teddy with Rick alone by her empty stool.

Rick was not looking forward to dinner with this guy. "If I knew we'd get a whole 'nother show for free, I coulda kept my money." Rick smiled outwardly and chafed inwardly.

"Nah, man." T-Dog sobered and backtracked apologetically. "Nah, I'm just playing. Thanks for coming to the show. For real, though. All y'all. Y'all feeding my kids and keeping my baby mothers in Brazilian lace fronts."

They all barked at another joke Rick didn't get as he stood quietly in the lively circle, completely forgotten by the woman he'd come with.

A few more witty remarks and T-Dog was ready to get Michonne alone, plotting to make a move, still unaware of Rick's position. Mike was standing there enjoying the fraction of attention she was paying him while Terry rolled his eyes at his boy's clumsy efforts to trump Rick in some way and steal back his lady. Rick stood there calmly, planning a serious conversation with Michonne behind his frosted eyes. It was the same conversation they'd have a couple months from now in Duncan's restaurant that would separate them for weeks.

By the end of dinner with her friend, Michonne's behavior had improved but not enough to get her off the hook as far as her boyfriend was concerned. As usual, though, Rick had won over Teddy, who was initially bummed to find out that Michonne was dating the tall drink of southern water. But, Rick was such a cool dude and he saw how happy Michonne seemed to be, Teddy couldn't have any malice toward him.

Honestly, Teddy was a cool dude himself. In the process of catching up and reminiscing with Michonne, he explained the whole Zamunda reference to Rick, as well as lace front wigs and the black culture's love affair with designer labels. The man whose job was knowing learned a lot. And Teddy scolded Michonne for being derelict in her duties by bringing this white guy into the inner circle without a full education of all things black.

Teddy gave several movie suggestions as homework for Rick if he wanted an invite to the "cookout" (which he also explained) including: Coming to America, Boyz N the Hood, The Color Purple, Boomerang and Lean On Me- which Rick had already seen.

Teddy and Michonne were shocked to find out that the Morgan Freeman classic was one of Rick and Daryl's favorites. The hood card applicant shocked them both with an impromptu cover of the East Side High school song. Teddy and Michonne clapped and whooped and begged for an encore, stunned by Rick's bass-heavy soulful rendition. But he devilishly left them wanting more.

They ended the night discussing how Rick and his team might be available to provide security for some of the funny man's larger venues. And Teddy left assured that Michonne was in good hands.

Michonne was in good hands, but she was also in trouble.

"What's wrong?" she asked on the way to her apartment as the city lights swam in and out of the dark cab of his truck.

Rick sighed, but didn't hesitate to tell her, "I gotta say some thangs to you and you ain't gonna like 'um."

"Uhh... Okay?" She had seen him upset like this before but it was normally after he'd hung up with Lori, never after a night with her. She noticed his right hand at twelve on the steering wheel instead of casually at six, a telltale sign that he was pissed.

This was not a good time for what Rick was billing as a seriously unpleasant conversation. This would be the last time she'd see him face to face for a few weeks. Carol had a string of consultations lined up for him and Daryl all over Mexico thanks to Rosita's connections. Michonne didn't want him to leave her for so long with a bad taste in his mouth.

"I don't mind if a guy like Mike wants t' make little snide comments about me. That says more about him than it does about me. That's not to say I wouldn't love t' feed him his teeth..." Rick paused briefly to find his way back to the point he was making. "Teddy is cool and I know I'll always have t' prove myself t' some of your friends... and some of your family." he acknowledged, referring to Shane. "But I like t' think I've proven myself to you."

"You have, Rick."

"I have?" He turned to looked at her face. "If I have, then I don't see how remarks at my expense could be funny to you."

Michonne opened her mouth but closed it quickly, not knowing how to answer him. She thought back to his face at certain points of the night, but she had to admit she wasn't really paying attention to the subtle hints of his disapproval that should've been clear as day to her.

"Specially when the guys bustin' my balls are the same guys tryna take my place."

"I'm not thinking about Mike. I swear Rick… and Teddy is not trying to take your place. He's just my friend."

Rick scoffed. "Michonne, I know I can be a bit overprotective when it comes to you. But could you trust that, I, as a man, can tell when another man is on the prowl?" She looked at him dead-level but silent. "I felt like you didn't mind those guys flirtin' with you tonight. I know _they_ felt like you were giving them the green light to say the thangs they said. That ain't right, Michonne. I think you should be as protective about me as I am about you. You agree or disagree with that?"

"I agree. So, what do you want me to say?"

"I'm not gonna tell you what to say. If you got somethin' to say, say it."

"Sorry." She swallowed. "Can we just make up? I don't want you to leave upset."

"Well, I am upset and I can't just turn it off right now. I'm very disappointed in you."

"Do you have to say that?" Those words crushed Michonne completely. She'd heard him say the same words to Carl once when Lori reported that their son had been talking back to her. When he said it to Carl, it made Michonne want to wrap the boy up in a hug. Now, hearing him say it to _her_ , she felt it even more acutely: It was a heavy thing to disappoint Rick Grimes.

"Yeah. I do. I have to be honest with you and you have to be honest with me." He made sure she understood his expectations. "If you'd rather have guys like Mike fallin' all over themselves chasin' you instead'a me standin' beside you, let me know. If I'm not enough you need to let me know. If I am... you need to let _them_ know."

"Okay Rick." She conceded in record time hoping to settle everything before they turned down her block. "It won't happen again. You know I want to be with you." She assured him with a sweet but timid smile as he pulled up to her building. "Why don't you let me take you to the airport in the morning?"

"Because I wanna make my flight." He said with a slight chuckle. "That's okay. Carol's gonna take me. I'll call you before we take off." He leaned over the center console for a goodbye kiss. And Michonne felt the difference. When he pulled away from the short peck, she tilted her head innocently to assuage him. But he just shook his head, sweeping a finger over her cheek. "Go on in." He nodded to the bright lights in her building's lobby as the doorman waited for her to exit his car.

Rick was true to his word and called before the wheels went up, but Michonne slept through his 4 a.m. call, like he knew she would.

They talked and texted every day while he was gone and there was no further mention of what happened that night. Rick wasn't one to keep rehashing the past. It was one of the reasons no one else knew about what Lori did all those years ago. At the time she thought he was being too nice to his ex, but now that she was benefiting from his even-temper, she was thankful that he was consistent in his forgiveness.

When she won her bet with Andrea a couple weeks later, her best friend accused her of cheating because Rick traveled so much of the time. But Maggie agreed with Michonne that the bet was a simple one and Andrea never gave any stipulation that prohibited travel.

Rick called to congratulate his girl on her win and suggested she come visit him in Monterrey so they could celebrate properly.

The notion made her weak and dizzy. And when she hung up with him, she laid her head on her desk while her heart raced, as she vividly imagined Rick's hands all over her. She felt confused at the nervousness those thoughts gave her. It was silly and so out of character for her to shy away from Rick's seductive comments. She didn't know what was coming over her.

She needed to make heads or tails of this strange hesitation. So, she called Mrs. Hopscotch and Butterflies for a diagnosis.

"Hey, Mimi."

"Care Bear. I think you broke me!"

"What? You're broke?" Maggie asked confused by her friend's blunt greeting.

"Your 'waitin works' philosophy has me scared of dick!"

"Mimi... What?"

"I just got off the phone with Rick and... he'll be home in a couple days. And Maggie, I do not feel like my usual sexual goddess self. He said he wanted to... well he said some thangs... that... oh god!" She flopped back over on her desk. "He made me sweat!"

"Wow." Maggie laughed as she gained a little understanding of Michonne's emergency call. "Well don't tell me what he said. It's 98 degrees out there today. I don't need a synopsis of you and Rick's phone sex giving me any extra unladylike perspiration."

"Fine. I couldn't repeat it anyway." Michonne became hot again just thinking about his lazy whisper in her ear, "It was... naughty."

"Naughty?" Maggie laughed at Michonne using her words.

"Oh god! Care Bear did you turn me in to you?" Michonne palmed her face hopelessly. "I can't be Mrs. Nursery Rhymes and Sugar Cubes with Rick when he gets back!"

Maggie grinned on the other side of the phone. "Hold on a sec, Mimi." Michonne heard the line click and she rubbed her forehead in distress waiting with worry for Maggie to return to their call. "Okay, I'm back. Now what were you saying, Mimi?"

"I said I'm fucking shook! I talked a lot of shit to him for six months. If he comes back and my legs are shaking before he even touches me... And I can't tell Drea, she'll just laugh at me. But I need help Maggie!" The line went silent for a moment and then she heard Andrea and Maggie cackling in response to her desperate pleas. "Oh my god, Care Bear! Did you add Blondie to this call?! What has gotten into you?" Michonne screamed over the duet of her friends' fiendish laughter. "That's a Mimi move. Did you do some of that southern voodoo and switch places with me? Are you somewhere fucking Glenn's brains out while I'm hyperventilating over some shit Rick _said_ to me?"

Maggie caught her breath. "No. I don't know any southern voodoo, Mimi. I promise." She fractured again and shrugged, "Maybe you're just a little outta practice."

"That… and she told me that Rick is packing some serious weaponry." Andrea added, "I never forgot that little tidbit from your clumsy landing in his lap at Mike and Terry's party."

"That's a little more info than I needed, Blondie." Maggie announced, trying to forget that she'd heard it. "Jeez, is there nothing you two don't tell each other?"

"Not really." Andrea shrugged. "We even named his dick..."

"Not interested!" Maggie stopped her. "Blondie, I brought you on the call so you could help her get her mojo back."

"And why would I do that?" Andrea said stubbornly. She added with a bitter playfulness. "She _won_ the bet. I already have to clean out her email. She has 7,000 emails in her inbox!"

"Those were the terms you agreed to, Blondie!" Michonne defended.

"But y'all cheated, Mimi."

"No, no, no, ladies! I'm not gonna listen to this again." Maggie paused their bickering. "Now, I would help her, Blondie, but I've never considered myself a _sexual goddess_."

"Oh god!" Andrea cried disappointed and despondent about her girls' dick-induced distress. "Then this is for both of you." Their rambunctious friend, began sounding like a teacher at the blackboard. "You need Tank."

"Holy crap, Blondie! 'Serious weaponry', 'tanks'? What kind of sex where you and Shane having?" Maggie joked.

"The kind where headboards and blouses become collateral damage." Andrea smirked. "Tank is not a metaphor. He is a singer, Maggie. You and Michonne get his song 'When We'... play it on repeat. But be careful with this power, sisters." She tempered her voice like a sorceress handing over a magic potion. "I can't be held accountable for the form your men may take if they hear this song." Maggie and Michonne laughed at her over the top caveat. "And I feel like I should be released from the terms of our bet for greasing the wheels on this good fuck you got coming."


	17. Chapter 17

**So, let me say, I thank Mrs. for putting me on to the inspiration song for their first time. Maybe you thought I forgot about it, Mrs.J, but I didn't. I wanted it in _this_ story so it took a while to get here. FikFreak did an awesome job with this song in her story "Find My Way Back". (which everybody should read) But here's my take on it and I hope y'all like it!**

 **~comewithnattah**

* * *

 **First Time**

Michonne stood in front of her balcony's vertical blinds wearing nothing but a floor-length sheer white kimono that she'd bought for no other reason than this moment with Rick right now. Her ears were covered with the bulky purple headset to her stereo system. The moon's cream glow threw linear bands of light across the uncovered parts of her inky frame. She looked out over the city from her lofty point of view pondering the man on his way to her. He'd been gone for weeks and there was something she wanted to give him, or more precisely, something she wanted him to take from her.

Rick had just spoken to Michonne less than an hour ago when his flight landed. It was a quick conversation, just a check in, really. Her sleepy voice had revealed nothing to make him suspect that he would arrive and find her doing anything other than dreaming.

Rick didn't know, but that was exactly what she had been doing. She was in the middle of a lucid dream, floating in her white chiffon, when his key released the lock of her front door. He tipped in quietly trying not to wake her.

His eyes adjusted to the dark and across the room, her silhouette came into sight like a phantasm from the shadows.

"S'late. Thought you were sleepin'. You didn't have to wait up." he said with a heavy drawl that betrayed how tired he was from his long day of traveling. She watched those big boorish hands toss his keys on the island and set his bag near the door.

But he still had farther to go. Deeper. Michonne stood ready to lead the way, but like the proverbial horse- she would wait for him to drink.

Michonne didn't move or speak and Rick stood there wondering why she had no excitement to see him. She did have it, though. She had that feeling of biting excitement coursing between her legs. What she _didn't_ have was anything to say. She had a lot she wanted to do. If he wanted her to speak he'd have to snatch it out of her. She was ready to see if he would. She was ready. She was like a house fire blazing into the sky, one gentle breeze would see her collapse into herself. But she prayed for hurricane force winds.

She could tell it was in him to do it. She wanted to see him do it. She didn't know what to call it, but she could see it in his eyes. There was something even colder than his arctic blues there. There was a certain kind of threat... a danger... she wanted to see if she could survive it.

She yanked the headphone jack out of the stereo and removed them from her ears, tossing them on the nearby sofa chair. The song replaying over and over for the past few days, at a volume loud enough to be divine, burst from the speakers suddenly like thunder in a valley.

 **~ Who came to make sweet love? Not me  
Who came to kiss and hug? Not me**

 **Who came to beat it up? Rocky  
And don't use those hands to put up that gate and stop me ~**

Slabs of concrete that separated all the units in her building kept all the eroticism tucked quietly in her place. The gruff falsetto of Tank's "When We" had been droning and drilling a single objective into her head while she waited for him to make his way through the traffic to her body. The molasses beat thumped through their bodies simultaneously and Rick bridged the distance to her sound system in quick strides to turn the volume down. But when he got close enough to her, she threw her body against his urgently, unbuttoning his shirt and helping him snatch it over his head, tousling his curls.

He didn't know he was gonna end his night inside her, but she did. She knew she was about to summon the beast and she was determined to stand her ground, resist every pull and defy every push. She wanted him to be that beast that she saw when he was working. It was nice when he was lenient and tender, opening doors, pulling out chairs and holding her hand. She loved his attentiveness. But she knew it was all a veneer. She'd studied him enough to see it slip when he was pissed and it was a volcanic sight.

Rick flipped the switch to get a better look at his spoils. An ultraviolet glow saturated the room turning the gloss on Michonne's lips a deep florescent pink hovering in the darkness of her face. Her shimmering body wash left radiant blue specks all over the laden flesh of her breasts, the plane of her stomach down to her glowing pink toes. She looked like his own private galaxy floating in a cosmic haze. He slipped two fingers slowly under the globe of her breast and let his thumb skip back and forth across the firm berried nipples she flaunted.

Michonne laid a soft wet kiss on his lips contradicting the furiousness of her hands. He lunged and kissed her back trying, unsuccessfully, to maintain the same feathered action but she could see it... the bull on its way to the china shop.

He yanked her off her feet, opening her up around his waist, his wrists curved around the backs of her knees. Rick's tongue couldn't find a place to settle; her neck, her ear, her lips, her breasts... each spot he sampled tasted sweet and spicy like meat slathered with sauce on the grill.

"Ahhhh," he groaned exhausted already from holding back. "I don't want to hurt you." He bounced her higher up his torso and her ass cheeks fell perfectly into the ravaging crack of his rough wide mitts. "You ain't making it easy."

 **~ I could be aggressive  
I can be a savage ~ **

She made no eye contact, just nuzzling and caressing his face hungrily with her own. Still silent, Michonne reached between the gap of her thighs to touch him. She hissed at feeling his bulging length harden in her hand, while his hands involuntarily dug deeper into the plumpness of her behind.

 **~ I just need your blessin'  
Say that I can have it ~**

"Michonne. Do you hear me?"

She threw her head back and he heard a faint giggle just under the bass of the song.

 **~ When we fuck  
When we fuck ~**

"Are you teasin' me? What do you want me to do here?" He spoke breathing heavily against her chest, still playing the role of a gentleman.

The bet was won, he knew that. But her hesitation to participate in the nasty things he'd said to her while he was across the gulf made him think that she wasn't quite there. He had wondered what cat had her tongue when he spoke huskily through his cell about what he had in mind for her. Now he was ready to give her all the tongue she needed. She smelled like heaven and he was dying to get there.

She could tell he wasn't sure what game she was playing at and she savored the look of strained aggression on his face. To be so desired and yet so loved...

She began to pump her fist over his loaded erection.

"So, we done... waitin'?" He struggled to ask as he swallowed dryly, praying she'd say yes.

But she didn't say anything. She wasn't going to give him the permission he was asking for. She wanted him to rip her apart and feast. No manners, no civility. He was going to give her what she wanted or he would never see the promise land.

"Fuck, Michonne." He bit between her breasts, inducing a moan from her that boiled his blood. "Yeah. We're done waitin'." he finally decided, letting her slide down his heaving body. "Go to your room."

Michonne backed up slowly- toe, heel, toe, heel- in front of Rick as he closed in on her with his glowing blue eyes set to stun. He slipped his belt from his waist, placed the buckle in his palm and wrapped the strap tightly around his hand.

Michonne gasped and giggled, turning quickly to comply. Not quick enough, as Rick caught her with his arm around her waist. He pushed her with his body to the bed they'd fallen asleep in a few times. "You think you ready for me 'Chonne?" he spoke strongly in a whispered voice as he stood behind her in the moonlight from the bedroom's balcony, facing the king size bed.

This bed had been a battleground for passion versus patience. Now Rick was ready with the coup de gras for patience and Michonne was ready to kowtow to passion. "After all the whinin' you did for months and the games you played. You ready for me now, huh?" he asked her tapping her thigh lazily with the leather strap in his fist, just enough to sting her skin. The music in the living room was like a revenant beside them, waiting with Rick for an answer.

 **~ This shit is gettin deep, deep up in there**  
 **Feel your legs gettin weak up in here**  
 **Get a face full of that gushy, I'm close baby don't push me, this is how it always should be when... ~**

"Yes. Yes, Rick." Michonne nodded as he pawed at her breast and smoothed his rough hand over her belly and her thighs, lapping at her neck. "I'm ready." She let her robe fall from her body and pool at her feet. She turned to face him and helped him out of his pants as he dropped his belt to his side.

 **~ When we fuck  
When we fuck ~**

She was pulling him hungrily down on top of her before his ankles were free of his jeans. "I'm so ready, Rick. I'm so ready. I'm so ready." she chanted, pushing herself up the bed and pulling him along with her, taking the opportunity to run her hands along the washboard of his torso. She bit her lip at the power he held in just that spot.

Her legs were open for him, but he hovered over her writhing appetent body on straight arms posted at both sides of her. "Show me." He scratched out the command, falling into her sepia gaze as she quaked for more of his touch. "Show me how ready you are." Rick licked his lips and leaned forward pulling at her sweet mouth over and over with his own.

Rick's mouth watered as he watched Michonne drop a hand between her thighs and coat her fingers with the sweet, creamy stream making a path to her knees. She painted the middle of his face, from his nose to his chin, with her syrupy juices. She smacked her lips over his to taste her sweetness.

Rick moaned deliciously into her mouth when he sampled her juices the first time. His manhood laying hot and heavy on her abdomen, she pulled him closer to her body with the weight of her leg wrapped around his. "Fuck me, babe. Fuck me hard." she let out a motivational squeal.

"Good." He said with a faint growl, taking in her lustful stirrings. "I want you just like that, Michonne." He wanted her boiling, unable to keep still, unable to keep quiet, unable to keep her wits about her. He rose to his knees and spread her wide like a buffet, slowly stretching her leg muscles. Her thighs gripped fiercely in his palms, he cased the ripe dark petals nestled between the curve of her hips. "I wanna use my tongue first. You think I should?" He asked her with his eyes dead on his meal.

"Y- yes."

"Good." He stroked around the slippery portal with his thumb as his eyes raked over her warm tender skin. "I waited..." he nodded to himself, amazed and trailing off as he thought about all the ways he'd wanted her and for how long. But he still had to reconcile whether he was worthy of such perfection. "I'm gonna take my time, here." He sank into residence at the point of glory, kissing her inner thigh and tickling her, brushing those sensitive meaty parts of her with the scruff of his jet-lagged face. "You're gonna show me how sweet you can be?"

"Mmmm... Y-y-yes, Rick."

His tongue made a pass through her most deeply hidden lips and Michonne immediately bucked against his face already a slave to it. "I got you 'Chonne." he rasped gently and repeated the action moving closer to her quivering bud with each turn. The tantalizing practice made her scrunch her face in the darkness with whimpering breaths, until he slurped that tiny pearl into his mouth and seized her breathing all together.

"God! Rick!" She blurted as he pushed back the cowl-like skin on her clit with his teeth. He flicked his tongue rapidly over the screaming nerves causing her belly to constrict and her eyes to roll shut in rhapsody. She wallowed in his expertise and briefly thought about Mike and how he loved to plant his face between her legs. Mike had all the skill of a blind raccoon with a hammer, but Rick was pinging the nail directly on the head, simultaneously creating an itch and providing the scratch.

Michonne's legs stiffened as he pulled the crux of her to his hungry mouth. Jets of pleasure zipped higher and higher inside her, so unexpectedly intense she released her clutches on her sheets and scraped her fingernails over his scalp harder than she'd meant to. She pulled at his soft silken curls tighter than she'd meant to, when her toes curled and she shot upright on the bed,

"Rick, I'm close... I'm... I..."

A tidal wave of voltage spread from her core to her nipples and knees and out her pores, numbing her face as her cries crashed against the high ceilings of her room.

Rick saw God or, at least, what he thought God should be.

After finding a million little reasons to cherish this woman he hummed from his spot below her like a monk in prayer, "Mmm, Michonne," his breath danced humid across her midriff as he gave her a chance to collect herself, "you're my new favorite thang... again."

He, indeed, took his time and Michonne had a fleeting thought that the small piece of him working miracles across her now swollen nub would give in to fatigue but Rick was ready to drink her wine in celebration until they both fell into a stupor. Michonne was there already but Rick had a higher tolerance and went for another round. And when he broke her again like an eggshell with hardly any effort, he climbed her body, cradled her hips in his arms and pressed his lips tenderly to her temple.

She could smell the aroma of her essence mingled with his scent thick in his beard and she breathed deep enjoying the delirious feeling. Rick looked her over, adoring her doped up expression.

She opened her eyes to him shining down on her face and she gave him an incandescent smile, "You're gonna have to find a way to bottle that feeling..." She said, rubbing her nose across his jaw "... or there can't be any more business trips where you're gone for weeks...

... or days

... or hours..."

Rick chuckled and noticed that for the first time Michonne, not only looked, but sounded intoxicated. He doted on her slurred words and halting speech, sweeping his thumb over her delectable bottom lip. He was drawn to her neck again by a spotlight from the moon and his tongue followed the glowing blue path across her ebony skin. Michonne continued her request, smiling at the feeling of his wet kisses trailing to her breasts, "In fact, we could stay right here and wait for forever to get here."

He covered a breast with his smiling mouth as he jiggled the other in his hand. He was thinking about marriage. For the first time, it was his own original thought, nothing he was being pressured or pushed into. He was wondering what she would say if he asked her, right now, if he told her how much he needed her and how much he loved her. But he was afraid to ruin the moment. He focused on teasing her nipples with his soft lips and his wet tongue while she talked on.

"I don't think forever would be enough." She said as he rolled her flat on her back again. "Do you?"

"Uh unh." Rick answered no as he slipped his hand between her legs to the sopping pool he was about to dive in.

"I think we're makin' hist'ry tonight." she did her awful cowboy impression with a drunken giggle then gasped sharply as his index finger and middle finger began to move in and out of her slowly.

"We always do." Rick agreed. "I think we make the best hist'ry, don't you?" He said touching his warm hard erection to her opening without warning. Michonne went quiet, save for the intermittent gasp, as he pushed his concrete shaft, thick and heavy past her slippery folds.

Her eyes went wide as he spread her legs to accommodate his daunting girth. He made his way deep inside her and she made an effort to remain calm as her nervousness about this whole endeavor came back. Rick stayed at her mouth dropping every combination of four letter word past her lips as she cross talked him hissing his name. He was dissolving into her gushing center and got lost imagining how many more times he could make her say it before she realized how much she was saying it.

His heart pounded as he nailed her to the foamy mattress over and over again, bulldozing her walls going in and tugging them along as he pulled out. Michonne purred his name like a chant, holding on lest she be cast too far to recover. But then he jacked her knees up over his arms, nearly folding her in half and reaching that frequency that rattled her skull and robbed her of her breath and raced her heart til she was dizzy.

"Rick... Rick... Rick..." she couldn't believe he could go any deeper, until he did. She couldn't believe he could be any harder, until he was. She didn't believe he could be any sexier, until she looked longingly at his face and saw the evidence of his impending release plastering a handsome grimace on his face. She'd never seen his face like that before and she convinced herself that no one else had ever seen it, either. It was all and only for and because of her.

That thought swelled her heart, whether it was true or not, and she held him closer to her as the sight of his face utterly overwhelmed her. She was on the verge of a catastrophic collapse and ready to savor it and remember it always. "I can't... take..." she struggled through every word debating if she'd survive his punishing pace. "I'm about... to... cum... Oh!"

Rick raised himself high on his arms again, maintaining that perfect stroke, wanting to take advantage to the front row seat to her pleasure. Her lips pursed together, her eyes clenched shut, her breasts bouncing in time with every thrust of his viperous cock. "I feel it, Chonne." he acknowledged as her pussy gripped him more tensely and he stretched her even wider. They both groaned from the pain in pleasure as they came together like the moon and the stars.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: If you remember from chapter one, what Rick just did to our girl made her give up the BIG THREE. So this is that.**

 **P.S. The song stuck in Rick's head is "Wanna Be Yours" by the Arctic Monkeys**

 **~comewithnattah**

* * *

 **Saying The Words**

After the spots left their eyes and their breathing returned to normal, Rick moved to the side of the bed Michonne had designated for him the first time he stayed there. She rolled over with him, "You don't have to move so far away. Touching each other won't jeopardize the bet anymore... I just need room to breathe." She said pulling his arm back in her direction.

"Okay." Rick smiled, happy to get a green light, even if she flashed a little yellow too. "I guess I'll let you breathe... if you must." he joked on a sleepy raspy sigh.

"Babe, if you want me to live forever, breathing can't be debatable."

"Shut up, 'Chonne." He said nuzzling his face into her cheek, then held her face steady, attacking her, obnoxiously invading her breathing room until she screamed.

"Too close! Too close!" She pushed him away with her arms and legs while he laughed. "You see! I give you an inch and you take a mile!"

"What about the inches I just gave _you_?" He said sitting up against the tufted headboard and pulling her closer to straddle him with her free hanging locs framing her soft brown face. "That don't earn me a mile, _at least_?"

She settled her naked sex over his without hesitation and answered, "Not a mile into my breathing spa..."

He interrupted her complaints with a brash tongue and tugging lips. She relaxed against his chest easily with a moan, long and willingly. His lips tasted so differently scented with her arousal. The progression from fluffy candied kisses to desperate bites negated any talk of breathing and any talk of space. Which, after a few minutes, arranged the opportunity for Rick to pull back from her busy mouth and tease,

"Chonne..." he said as she released his bottom lip from her teeth, her eyes shut and her face sated, he needled her, "Can _I_ breathe?"

"Of course, you can, Rick." Her voice dripped with exaggerated courtesy, "How hypocritical of me." Michonne moved to her knees between his legs and then crawled backwards on all fours, her tail floating high in the air like a jungle cat. She kissed his chest through the sparse, soft dark hairs there, each time her lips pulled away the moisture she had planted with her tongue left a cool sensation on his otherwise seething skin.

Down... down... down... to his stomach, so tight and masculine. She continued to pamper him with her leisurely descent. Down... down... down... she bit him just above his hip and smiled as he hissed a reaction. If his lips tasted like that from eating her out, she salivated at the thought of his flavor after being so deep inside her.

She looked up expecting to see his head dropped back, eyes closed with anticipation. Instead, she met his eyes, shining blue like a neon sign and boring into her as he pulled his deep pink lip slowly under his tongue. The sight of him watching gripped her in the gut and she froze for a moment in his stare.

"Go 'head." he tossed his chin without changing his deliberate expression.

Michonne took it as a challenge. And she hated to lose. It was the reason Andrea could trust the honor system through the months of their bet. She knew her friend wouldn't take what she didn't earn. It was also why no one took her sore loser accusations of cheating serious, not even Andrea herself.

Michonne raised her brow, accepting his dare with resolve.

Rick reached a hand flat on her back and it slid slowly up her spine to her neck and into her dense, thick tresses as she retreated. Until his strapping, stiffened member stood twitching before her eyes. Michonne licked her lips and kissed his shaft lightly, lovingly. She did in fact love it. She loved the way she felt just now and this big hunk of muscle, still coated with her sticky honey, was the instrument he'd used to make her feel desperate enough to fall apart and die after each deep stroke.

She kissed his dick all over, loving on it, loving on him. Admiring the curve of it and the sporadic path of the veins decorating his otherwise smooth skin. She used her tongue to get to know his dick. It was like meeting someone new and becoming friends immediately.

Her knew friend may have been aggressive... a little, but he was sweet. She closed her eyes releasing a moan as he grew harder in her mouth unexpectedly causing her to back off his length reflexively.

Rick smirked after a quiet cocky huff.

Michonne wasted no time recovering and let her big juicy lips curl around him. She suckled him hard between her tongue and cheeks. She swiped her tongue around the cusp of his meaty head whenever she pulled away applying pressure and suction that made him thrust his hips before he could stop himself.

He placed his palms flat on her back again, smoothing over her ribs and spine. He found a place to settle his hands on both sides of her torso just above her hips, the pads of his fingers were pressed into her abs while his thumbs gripped her at her back. Her hips were now creating contours to her backside that were just out of his reach. It was hard to tell if she was sucking him off or he was fucking her mouth. Either way, he went red as his breath hitched and she brought him to the brink.

A moan rolled in his throat punctuated by her name. And she decided right then to do something she'd never done. The thought of it made her pussy contort and drip again. She would swallow as much as he gave her and she readied herself eager to do it for Rick, do it for them both, to make their relationship stand alone.

Another feral moan came from Rick, "Chonne... Fuck... I'm cummin'..." The words left him sounding oppressed by the harrowing bliss racing from his balls, galloping up his spine and sizzling across his brain…

Victoriously drinking down his seed, she decided she didn't mind the taste. It was warm and brackish but tasted authentically _Rick_ \- serious and sweet and strong, like the cognac that flavored his lips when he was in a mellow mood. He dropped back against her headboard. His lips parted and gasping for air as he parachuted down from the slam of his climax, his eyes refocused on his talented brown angel returning his cocky smirk from moments ago.

Michonne draped her body over his leg, resting her elbow in the mattress and her chin in her palm. "Can you breathe, Rick?" she asked sarcastically, "I gave you plenty of space."

The next morning was different, airy and still. A cloudy night transformed to a clear morning and the northern exposure of her bedroom terrace brought in light but not the blinding sun as Michonne began to wake up in bed alone.

She could hear his voice coming closer from the hall. He was singing and she got big butterflies in the seconds before he entered her room. He had been up for the past half hour waiting for her smile to put the sun to shame.

At first, he tried not to wake her. He crept around the apartment from his suitcase to the bathroom to the kitchen. But then he started to miss her, terribly... enough to make him feel silly, enough to make him "accidentally" wake her up with his singing. His deep southern cadence rolled along the hallway walls,

" _Secrets I have held in my heart are harder to hide than I thought. Maybe I just wanna be yours. I wanna be yours. I wanna be yo-o-o-urs._ " Rick sailed in to her bedroom and smiled at the success of his shamelessly selfish plan. "Finally." He said softly as she rolled over with her hair in disarray, her thin gray bed sheet covering her birthday suit. "I was getting lonely." he said honest and hopeless.

He was holding a tray with a bowl of cereal that he dropped on her nightstand before he sat beside her on the bed. They just smiled at each other playing chicken with satisfied smiles until Michonne gave up and looked past him to the sky outside.

"You don't have any food here. There was only a little milk left." He informed her and lifted her cover, taking a peek at her naked body. She snatched the sheet back sheepishly and pulled it back over her breasts.

She looked in the bowl and thanked him for breakfast, even though she knew she wouldn't eat it. She had tried that cereal and hated it. "I was gonna go shopping today. You weren't supposed to be here until tonight, Mr. Patience."

He seemed to ignore her explanation for her bare cupboards, focusing instead on what she was inexplicably hiding from him. "Chonne, you seriously covering up in front of me? After last night?" He looked at her with a whimsical curiosity as he slowly pulled the sheet away from her skin.

Michonne giggled and began a short-lived tug of war, pulling harder than him and leaning back into her pillows to escape his advancing lips.

"Rick! Stop!" she begged turning her face from his. "I haven't brushed my teeth yet!"

"So?"

"That's gross!"

"C'mon..." he appealed to her sense of self-preservation by tickling her and she screamed, curling into a ball, finding no refuge under the cotton sheet.

Rick didn't think she could be anymore lovable. He was sure that, as she slipped away into ecstasy underneath him last night, he couldn't love her more. But there he was, loving her more, expanding his heart to fit all of her in. He had that thought again. _How can I convince her to marry me?_ he thought to himself while she blossomed from his tickling attention.

 _This is stupid. Calling her my girlfriend..._ he made light of the title he'd been so happy to hear her acknowledge months ago, _when she is obviously more than that. It's so obvious she's my wife now. After last night... after this mornin'. What am I gonna do? NOT wake up to this every day?_

He just assumed it would take some convincing. She had everything going for her and she didn't need him. She said it all the time and it was true. She didn't need a man and it was intimidating, even to Rick Grimes. But it was flattering too, that she didn't need him and yet, he could tell she wanted him so much.

He wanted her too... so much and then some. _I just need to be inside her again._ He determined that was the prescription for the ache he felt as she giggled prettily... seductively.

"Can't take a peek, can't get a kiss..." Rick complained under a crooked smile. He let her go and she popped out from her flimsy shield. "Look," he said rubbing his fingertips over the edge of his brow in mild frustration, "I need you to do what you need to do so _we_ can do what we need to do."

Michonne shook her head at his one-track mind. He looked like Shane used to when he was getting high. Her brother would show up, make small talk and goof off with her for a while. It was always a distracted and hurried interaction because as much as he loved his Mimi, the narcotics had him and his preoccupation was getting his next fix. But unlike with Shane, Michonne could be a gracious enabler for Rick's addiction. She had the same habit... funny that it was a legitimate habit for them both after one night.

She laughed about it as she brushed her teeth, glancing back to look at Rick, still singing laying, across her bed. He was tossing a tiny throw pillow into the air while he tried to wait. It was the same thing Carl did with his tennis ball whenever he had to wait or was in his feelings. She turned back to her reflection and was stunned. She'd never seen _her_ face like that before. The happiness emitted from her smile was remarkable enough to shock her into a moment of clarity.

 _What the hell are you doing, Mimi?_ she tried to get a hold of herself. _Six months. That's it. You've only known this man six months. Don't even think about it. You are not that girl that gets hemmed in off dick... no matter how good it is._

She could hear her newborn heart contradicting her sensibility's reprimand, _It was so good, though_. She had to admit that and qualify what she was feeling even further, _Anyway, this is not about that. This is about l-_ she stopped herself.

 _No. you can't love this man. Not yet._

She scoffed at that restriction because the truth was, _You've_ _ **been**_ _in love with Rick Grimes- big, dumb, stupid love- for months. Look at your stupid face._ She stared directly into her own brown eyes and the truth stared right back at her, _LOVE. You think just because you don't say it, you can deny it?_

Her inner-voice switched again to steely resolve. _Do not tell this man you love him, dammit..._

Her hopeful heart interjected, _Even though you do!_

As she took in the picture of her naked body under the bathroom lights, she remembered what his lips and hands and that long deadly dick had done to her. She sighed, owning up to the truth but still trying to save face, she scolded herself, _Can you, at least, let him say it first?_

M _i_ chonne sent her eyes running back to her sinewy boyfriend, crooning into the air and answered herself, _No promises_.

"Sing it, Daddy." she called to him, complimenting his rich baritone voice as she put her hair up to shower.

Rick blushed, grinning up at the ceiling. He was happy she enjoyed it because that song by the Arctic Monkeys was stuck in his head and the mood he was in, he couldn't stop singing if he wanted to.

" _I wanna be yours. I wanna be yours. I wanna be yo-o-o-ours."_ He stood up, discarded his pants and joined her in the steamy fog of the shower. He came up behind her and wrapped his strong arms around her, slipping the chorus of the song into her ear despite the pattering of the water around them. " _Wanna be yo-o-o-ours."_

Michonne placed her palms on the tile in front of her and pushed her ass back, eagerly covering his jerking swollen cock. She blew out a deep breath as Rick's right hand cupped her petite breasts and the fingers on his other hand played at the opening of her mouth until she kissed and licked them past her lips with a moan.

Rick was positively guttural as he lowered his forehead between her shoulder blades. He released her breast and pulled his fingernails lightly down her side, around her back to caress her dripping backside for a moment in worship. She worshiped him back, feeling his power even though he remained unseen.

Spreading her ankles, he pushed inside her with one fluid stroke.

She no longer had a competition between her heart and mind. There was only Rick everywhere at once. "I love you, Rick." she sounded off loudly, overcome, as he moved, careful to savor each gradation of her pleasure.

"I know, baby." He whispered, seriously. "I love you, too." Rick was a honest man, but this was the truest thing he'd ever said and Michonne could feel it. He felt her feel it and the small space around them was full of more feelings than droplets of water.

* * *

"You did not!" Andrea screamed.

"I did." Michonne laughed at her friend's reaction.

Andrea calmed a little, "See? And did you die?"

"No." Michonne laughed at her previously dramatic position on swallowing anything the penis spit out. "I kinda liked it."

"It would taste even better if y'all cut out red meat."

"Please, Blondie..." the carnivore sighed and rolled her eyes.

"I'm just saying." Andrea threw her hands up as she sipped something green. "I bet if Rick told you to cut out red meat, you'd do it."

"As long as I keep getting that _white meat_ , I sure as hell would." They both laughed loudly.

"Let me find out he turned you out like that..."

"I can't fake. It was the best I ever had. And now that we talked all about the dick down... I gotta bring Maggie in on this to thank her. So, if you don't want to be contaminated by the mushy-kissy-face crap, I'll call you back."

"No, no. I will allow it, when it comes to you and Rick, Mimi."

"Awww... thanks, Blondie." Michonne was touched. "You really like him, huh?"

"Duh... Go ahead. Call Mrs. Skittles and Soda Pop."

"Okay!" Michonne quickly added Maggie to the call. "Thank you, Care Bear!" she shouted as soon as Maggie answered. "Waitin' Works, you were right!"

"I was? That's good." Maggie answered with less enthusiasm than Michonne would have guessed.

Michonne knew what would get her hype, "I told him I loved him, too, Care Bear!"

Maggie didn't respond but Andrea screamed again, "You did not!"

"I did." Michonne was happy to confirm it. "He loves me too. That's it. We're in love and making love and I feel like I'm riding a magical peacock across a rainbow in the fucking sky!"

Andrea cracked up at her friend's insane description and she could tell Michonne was dead serious. But Maggie was mysteriously silent.

"Hello? Mrs. Rhee? Are you with us here?" Andrea tried to revive their usually bubbly friend. "You live for this shit."

"I'm happy for you, Mimi. That's so great. You have to call me later and tell me everything. Okay? I gotta go." Maggie rambled and left the conversation.

"What the hell is up with her?" Andrea wondered.

Michonne supposed, "You think it's Glenn? Maybe they've been fighting?"

"I doubt it..."

Just then, loud music interrupted their speculation. "When We" by Tank joined the conversation from an unknown source...

"That you, Blondie?"

"Nope." Andrea answered.

"Come on, Bad Girl..." Glenn's breathless voice came through, muffled, but recognizable. "Take this off... Yeah, Mama."

Andrea's jaw dropped as she realized Maggie forgot to hang up, "Oh. My. God." she said in total shock.

Michonne's eyes popped. She tensed, covering her mouth in second-hand embarrassment.

"Fuck me, Rocky!" Maggie's normally innocent voice screamed out to Glenn from the phone's speaker loud enough to distort the frequency. "Holy fuckin' shit!"

"Rocky?" Andrea giggled at the nickname obviously taken from the song.

Michonne couldn't hold back her laughter but she knew Maggie would die if she found out about this, "Blondie..." she spoke up, "I'm hanging up."

Her rotten friend quickly begged on a whisper, "Mimi please! If you hang up I will never forgive you! I'm lonely and single and this is the best thing that's happened to me all year!"

Michonne rolled her eyes, debating, "You are one sick puppy." She whispered back to Andrea. But she had to admit, in the history of mankind, hearing Maggie let loose like this was equivalent to making alien contact.

"You know you wanna hear it, too." Andrea smiled wickedly and called her out as Glenn encouraged Maggie to 'back that ass up'. The blonde menace added, "Let me have this and I'll still clean out your inbox."

"Okay." Michonne agreed reluctantly. She shook her head at the impropriety and mumbled, "We're going straight to hell."


	19. Chapter 19

**Hey, everybody!**

 **Don't know about y'all, but the Richonne (especially my boo Rick) in the season 8 premier did my mind, body & soul good. We are blessed. **

**Anyway, Welcome to Thanksgiving at Rick and Michonne's. Enjoy!**

 **~comewithnattah**

* * *

 **Thanksgiving- Part One**

"Four and No more!"

"Four and No more!"

"Four and no more!"

Abe, Sasha and Abe Jr. pumped their fists militantly into the air as they comically vowed that the little squeak they'd unwrapped under the ooo's and aaah's of their family, would be the last addition to the Ford clan.

They finally had their girl.

She was already a little darker than her brothers, less pink. The baby girl was croissant-colored with hair that was more brown than red. She was still a redhead but, her mother held out hope that maybe her hair might change colors like her eyes were starting to. She could see a hint of golden brown mingling with the lighter hazel of her irises. Sasha kept her fingers crossed that maybe she'd have one baby that looked more like her than Abraham.

The main dining table was still congested with the exquisitely appointed centerpiece and the achromatic dishes and gold utensils. Michonne had made the place as glitzy and lovely as a show room, but somehow still inviting and cozy. After dinner everyone was stuffed and upbeat. They all migrated throughout the space to lounge, laugh, lollygag and lobby to hold the new bright-eyed lovebug who had slept through dinner quietly in her carrier.

The little wiggly bundle was named Annabelle for Abraham's great-grandmother. Abraham shortened it to "Belly". A.J. said it was because of how much she ate. Abe junior was serving as back up to his youngest brother's current role as bottle holder. Little Duke sat between A.J.'s legs cradling the baby who was barely a week old. The two brothers and the newborn sat deep on Michonne's large, newly delivered cream-colored sectional under the nervous watchful eye of Maggie, who certainly did not think it was safe to let the 22-month-old hold such a fragile and precious thing even if his bigger brother was supervising.

On the other side of Maggie, Sasha sat on the chaise of the couch. The new mother of four was in hot debate with Daryl and Carol, who were sitting side by side with their backs to the balcony in twin sofa chairs. The discord was over the practical use of a Beretta versus a Springfield. Sasha was beginning to think Daryl was disagreeing with the two of them just to see Carol laugh at him.

The veteran marine couldn't believe a man like Daryl would prefer the Beretta. She turned, ready to bring her husband into the dispute to make the match three against one. Unfortunately, he was at the other end of the couch, sitting next to most of his litter, dozing.

The kiddie table sat between the kitchen island and the living room. Once it was cleared, Noah and his adoptive dad were partners against Merle and Andrea in a game of spades. The lone woman at the table was a reluctant player, since Merle had been making open passes at her all evening. But, deciding she could use the distraction, she agreed to play cards, _but no other games_ , with Daryl's pervy brother.

"Like this, Duke." A.J. instructed his baby brother to hold the bottle up.

But Duke was too much like Sasha, "No! Let me!" he jerked his arm away from his big brother effectively breaking Belly's eager suckling.

"Oh! Be careful Duke. You'll make her cry." Maggie's soft voice cooed, to no avail. She tried to get herself to calm down over the sight and reminded herself that this is why she didn't want children.

Sasha, who seemed completely engulfed in her conversation with Carol and Daryl, snapped her finger without even turning in the squabble's direction, "Alexander Duke!" She tensed her lips around the little one's first and middle name and that was the end of that.

He raised his brows, startled and straightened his spine. He shot to hold that bottle at the perfect 45-degree angle.

"See?" A.J. whispered his 'I told you so' to the stubborn tyke and Maggie sat back, relieved, more confident and impressed that their mother was still in control.

It was her preference not to have any kids and Glenn, who believed adulthood was a trap, didn't object. But as Maggie looked up at her husband sitting with shy little Ali in the loft Rick used as his office, her heart strings were yanked and twisted. The quietest Ford was playing games on the computer when Glenn decided to join him and show him the prototype for a new handheld gaming system he was collaborating on at work.

She had to admit Glenn would make a great dad. Glenn would be better than Abraham, she judged as she rolled her eyes at the lazy man sleeping with his mouth hanging ajar. In her point of view, he had dragged his wife and newborn out in the frigid November air to catch their death of cold.

What Maggie didn't know was, Abe had been up wrangling those kids since the crack of dawn. After four births and the miserable past few weeks of carrying a baby that weighed in at 9 lbs. 4 oz., Mrs. Abraham Ford would have broken the big guys nose if he tried to stop her from coming to her sister's first Thanksgiving. She bundled up Miss Annabelle and the boys and told him to drive. Sasha was ready to enjoy being out in the world again, barking orders and intimidating more people than just her husband and children.

She'd gotten the perfect opportunity to do just that when she left the kids home with Abe and met Michonne, Rick and Tyreese at Morgan's old community food pantry early that same morning. It was their old man's idea for them to start giving back when they were teenagers. Now every year it was the siblings' tradition to help prepare thanksgiving dinner for foster children and their foster families.

Michonne watched the door the whole time, not believing that Shane would miss this. She didn't believe he would be _that_ stubborn.

She knew her brother better than that. And sure enough, he came. Almost an hour late and obviously frazzled, but he came. He walked, pass other volunteers, over to the long metal table where his family- and Rick- worked,

"Hey." He said to the collective over the crunch of vegetables on cutting boards and the metallic clank of trays and pots. Michonne gave him a half-hearted 'hey', but Rick saw how happy she was to see him.

"Hey, Man." Tyreese replied to Shane, "Did you oversleep? We start this at 7 a.m. _every year_."

"Nah, man. I was in an accident on the way here."

"What!?" his brother and sisters exclaimed in unison.

Now Michonne came out from her silence. She left her work and hurried to his side, fraught with concern. "You okay, Bubba?" She asked, turning him toward her and looking him over for injuries.

"Yeah, I'm okay, Mimi." He said instantly melting at her concern. He wrapped his arm around her head and brought her under his arm into a hug, to her surprise.

Just last night, on the phone with Michonne, he was holding to his week-long position that he couldn't be around Rick and that he wouldn't do anything to support their relationship. But this morning when he woke up to meet his family to do something for the greater good, he realized how rare family was.

It wasn't just having people around who share your last name. Judy Walsh had that. _A lot of good it did her_ , Shane had thought recalling his mother's ordeal. Family wasn't being born into a group of people who look like you, he knew that too. It was the people who were constant in your life. Unwavering.

Shane remembered when he was living pillow to post, pill chasing, the bar was extremely low for a best friend/junkie combo. He ended up spending most of his time with people he actually hated. He would hate them even more when they would steal from the people who loved them the most just for a hit: Their mothers, wives, even their children. They would ruin relationships they'd had all their lives for a high that wouldn't last a day. He always said he'd never do that. He swore he'd never become that kind of lowlife scum.

But he did.

Sasha was on a tour. Morgan never kept money in the house. With so many kids coming and going, he never wanted to give any of them a reason to come back and do something stupid. Tyreese never had much time for him, as his nose was set to the grindstone, chasing his dreams.

And then there was Michonne, who loved her Bubba more than she hated what he was doing to himself. Once he stole money right out of her purse while her back was turned, just like a snake, like she was just a stranger he'd come across. Michonne was hurt but she met with him again after that. She kept her money in her bra, from then on, whenever she was around him. But she never stopped _being_ around him.

Then when he went away, she was up every week to see him- a long drive that took time and money and energy. And sometimes after driving all that way, he'd be in the hole for his hot temper and she couldn't even see him.

After a while, she had Andrea in tow.

She and Andrea were faithful. He wondered if Lori would do that for him. Of course, their relationship was new. He didn't expect that level of loyalty from her now, but he wondered if she even had it in her.

Michonne was a true ride or die. Andrea was just like her and they were all three of a kind. What would he look like, now, if he bowed out of her life because he didn't trust her boyfriend?

"Look, I'm sorry sis. I been wrong how I been treatin' you. I still feel the same way about thangs..." He sneered at Rick, then looked back to Michonne. "But it's wrong to let it affect _our_ relationship. If you ain't gave my spot at your table t' somebody else, can I still come die of food pois'nin with everyone else this eve'nin?"

Rick smiled down at the apple skins before him as he added another red spiral to the pile. He didn't take it too hard that Shane was still listening to Lori about everything else, he was just happy Michonne was getting what she wanted. But his ears seemed to deceive him when he heard her say,

"Sorry, Bubba. I did give your seat away." Everybody looked stunned, especially Shane. But he quickly seemed to accept that he probably deserved that answer.

"Michonne..." Rick anxiously called to his fiancé for clarity, unaware of anyone new being added to the guest list.

"I gave your spot to Trig, Daryl's dog." She giggled. "Figured we'd replace you with a prettier face!" She said as she slapped his arm for telling her he wouldn't come in the first place, making the others laugh at her joke.

"What happened, Shane? How'd you end up in an accident?" Sasha's maternal interrogation took over as he pulled off his coat and went to the big industrial sink behind them to wash his hands.

"Lori was drivin'." He answered shaking his head. "She can't drive for shit. She was droppin' me off and rear-ended a guy in a Beamer."

Rick jumped into the conversation with both feet. "Was Carl in the car?" He asked troubled by the prospect. Michonne mirrored his expression.

Shane rolled his eyes at Rick and answered the question in Michonne's direction. "I haven't seen Carl. You think he's gettin' up this early with his mom to drop me off here?" he scoffed.

Shane was still trying to navigate this new part of the relationship between himself and Rick's son. He didn't see the kid that often, even with Rick dating his sister. But now that _he_ was dating Lori, he was a little nervous at the prospect of how easily things could become awkward given the dynamics of everything. Honestly, he was wondering if it was even worth it.

"No. That lazy bum wouldn't." Michonne grinned knowingly.

"And Lori's okay. Thanks for askin'." Shane said sarcastically to everyone. They all seemed uninterested in her well-being. But Tyreese at least said he was glad she was okay. "We had to wait for the police to get there, make a report. Wasn't even any damage."

"So, what does she say about you coming tonight?" Michonne asked, curious about Lori's reaction to what was surely unpleasant news for her.

"I ain't told her yet. But she's goin' to her sister's since Carl's gonna be with y'all. She's goin' to her sister's and I'm goin' to mine." He shrugged with finality.

Rick raised a doubtful brow as he peeled the bounty before him. He knew it wouldn't be _that_ easy for Shane to ignore Lori's wishes. Given their current rivalry, Rick was eager for Shane to see how Lori could wreck someone's day as easily as she could blow a kiss.

Shane came to work between Michonne and Sasha. "You're on apples with Rick. And Shane..." Sasha said with a testy tone, "Peel the skin and leave the apple. Don't do what Rick did and leave half the apple in the scrap pile." She rolled her eyes at Rick, for his previous inaccuracy, _and_ at Shane, too, for good measure.

"But, look." Rick said holding up a paper-thin apple peel, "I'm doing good now, right Sash?"

"Better." she answered without the smile he was hoping for.

"Yes, babe." Michonne praised him with a kiss. "These are the best peeled apples on the planet."

When Michonne walked away to sharpen her knife, Shane was left standing next to Rick. "I wanna say thank you, man... for decidin' t' come." He thanked Shane for choosing Michonne's happiness.

But Shane only shot him a deadly glare and told him, "If my sister's gonna be with you, she needs me in her life now more than ever. And I'm gonna be there. But I don't need thanks or nothin' else from you."

Sasha elbowed Shane for his rude speech. Michonne overheard the whole exchange and gave Shane an expert, open hand smack to the back of his head. He immediately rubbed his palm over the stinging point of contact.

"Be nice Bubba, damn." She pressed her lips to Rick's. "Ignore my stupid brother, baby. You're so sexy when you're sweet." She kissed him again, this time slipping him a little tongue.

"Okay, lovebirds!" Sasha snapped with authority. "You can get each other naked later. Peel them damn apples, Rick!"

"I'm tryin', Sash." He said speedily returning to his work with a flinch, making Tyreese chuckle. "That's Michonne!" Rick forfeited all street cred and snitched. He moved his gasping lady over an arm's length as he threw her under the bus and whispered, "Stay over there and play with Bubba, 'Chonne. You're gettin' me in trouble."

That was how Shane came to be sitting in Rick and Michonne's apartment, at the kitchen island talking to his sister while Rick loaded the dishwasher.

It was also the reason why Carl was missing from the happy occasion.

Rick should have seen this coming. But he assumed, that since Lori's new guy had pissed her off by deciding to come have dinner with his sister, that she would get back at her unsuspecting boyfriend in a way that Rick would find amusingly troublesome for _Shane_. Unfortunately, when it comes to Lori, even with a new man in her life, somehow the blow-back splatters into Rick's life as well.

Rick was on his way to get Michonne's young grasshopper when his ex-wife provided that typical smack in the face by means of their son. Before he even got to the highway, Carl called.

"Yeah, Carl I'm on my way." Rick answered through his truck's Bluetooth connection, smiling.

Rick knew his son was eager to come and talk video games with Glenn and Daryl, have a jam session with Noah and A.J. and hear Andrea and Maggie flatter him about how handsome he was becoming. He knew Big Abe would challenge Carl to a push-up contest and his son was poised to win this time. His dad even figured that the new high schooler would proudly roll off his grades to Carol. But mostly, he knew Carl was itching to gang up on him with his mischievous partner in crime, Michonne. Truthfully, Rick was looking forward to it more than Carl was.

"I gotta stop at the store to get a few thangs Michonne needs. She has me rippin' and runnin'." Rick grinned, elated to be at her service. "Everythang's comin' together though, wait til you see it. She's got candles and flowers everywhere... Oh, man, and the place smells great!" Rick sounded so excited and Carl smiled at his dad's giddiness despite his own disappointment. "I'll be there in about 20 minutes."

"No, dad." Carl wavered with a huff. "I'm not coming. Mom..."

Rick immediately fumed, but he suppressed his fury. "Mom what?" he asked, with a boiling rasp, switching his grip to the top of the steering wheel.

"Mom said..." Carl began, already remorseful about disturbing his father's merry mood, "… she's not feeling well from the accident this morning. She said she didn't want to be left alone."

"I thought she was going to your Aunt Leslie's?"

"She said she doesn't want to drive because she's still shaky from the accident. But I think she's just too embarrassed to go now. She's been crying all morning."

"Cryin'? For what? What's she embarrassed about? The accident?"

"No, dad. You don't understand... Mom's been telling Aunt Leslie and everyone that her new boyfriend was coming. But I don't think Shane's coming anymore. She called him, and they had a big argument this morning."

"Nah, he ain't comin'." Rick confirmed. "He's gonna be with us... and you are too."

"I can't leave her, dad. She thinks everybody loves Michonne more than her, that nobody cares about her. I don't want her to feel that way."

Rick knew his son was doing the noble thing for the right reasons, but for the wrong person. He couldn't help feeling a sense of guilt that his son had inherited that mentality from him. The divorcee didn't want Carl to waste any of his happiness on Lori. She never had any qualms about sacrificing someone else's time or energy or heart to get what she wanted. She'd done it to Rick and then she'd done it to Carl by bringing the boy into the world knowing how poisonous their home had become because of her lies.

Rick felt a complex sadness over his own sins that even made it possible for her to do that to the child he loved so much. That feeling of sadness mingled with the sense of fulfillment and pride he unexpectedly found in fatherhood, even with his resentment of Lori. He loved his son and his heart buoyantly anticipated the future, knowing his relationship with Michonne would only enrich both of their lives.

"Carl, you don't have to stay if you'd rather come with us."

"I know, dad." They both went quiet on the phone. Carl sat on the floor against his bed, voice lowered so his mother wouldn't hear. He didn't want to ruin his father's holiday. He didn't want to ruin anyone's holiday. But his dad had Michonne, his mom didn't have anyone. Carl was worried about her. She seemed panicked for some reason. "Dad..."

"Yeah, son."

"Remember when I asked you if you loved mom?"

"Yeah." Rick instantly recalled that day, it was years ago soon after their divorce. His father had tensed and ducked the question with a pivoting non-answer. When his son asked him if he loved Lori, Rick asked the boy, "Don't you?" He breathed a sigh of relief when that seemed to be a sufficient response for his son. But Carl was smart enough to read between those lines even back then and he always wondered what their relationship was about.

"I knew you didn't." Carl revealed. "I wanted to ask you then why you didn't, but I could tell you didn't want to talk about it. Maybe you thought I was too young to understand."

"Carl, I..." Rick began, not really knowing what he wanted to say. What could he say? Everything his son was saying was true. He pulled over into a gas station parking lot, realizing this was not going to be like other conversations he'd had with him about Lori.

Carl continued, "Now that I see you with Michonne, I know why you didn't love her... or at least, why you don't." Rick smiled even as his throat tightened at hearing his son speak sympathetically about things he always hoped he'd one day understand. But Carl didn't understand one thing, "Why'd you marry mom? She's nothing like Michonne. Was that like one of those 'young and dumb' moments you're always getting on me about?"

"Sorta." Rick chuckled, pinching the bridge of his nose and, at the same time, fighting tears.

"So, tell me, dad." Carl insisted, "Why did you marry mom?" Rick stuttered on the edge of the truth and his son grew impatient, "You know, she told me that you didn't want me?" Lori had been so angry about the day's developments that she went into her famous act, trying to secure Carl as an advocate. "She said when you found out she was pregnant with me, you didn't speak to her for months. Is that true?"

"It is true." Rick wouldn't lie. He sank down into the leather seat and got comfortable leaning against the driver's door. "Didn't even go to the hospital to see you or even pick her up to bring her home. I regret all that for your sake... but, Carl, there's more to it than that."

"I know. There's gotta be. Because you told me that you always wanted to be a dad. And I know that's true because you're the best dad." Carl's face was wrenched with emotion. The more he tried to pull back his tears the more paths they made down his reddening face. "You're the best dad." he repeated. "So, I don't believe her when she says you didn't want me. I don't believe her when she says you used to hit her. You always told me only a weak coward would hit a woman. And that's not you, dad. You're not weak and you're not a coward!" he said with determination. "So, something else is going on here. You can tell me. I'm on your side."

"Listen, Carl. I don't think you're too young to understand. And it makes me so happy that you know the kinda man I am, or try to be. I'm glad you're payin' attention... sometimes I ain't sure." Rick chuckled lightly at his joke, then sobered, "But everythang I do is to set a good example for you, son." He paused and listened to his son's forceful breaths. "And a real man wouldn't bring his son in the middle of this."

"You're not bringing me into the middle of this. She is! And I just want to know the truth."

"You already know the truth. You just told me. Everythang you said is true. I always say, you're too smart for your own good." Carl murmured out a chuckle. Mulling over what his dad was saying. "You're a man, Carl." Rick assured him. "You're a man when you're strong enough not to take the easy way out."

"That's why I'm gonna stay." Carl said. "Mom's right. Everybody does love Michonne more than her. You do. I do. Even Shane does. I still don't want mom to feel that way... I wish we could hide it better. He shrugged and shook his head.

Rick laughed outright. "Michonne's gonna be real disappointed that you ain't gonna be there."

"Nah, she'll understand. Tell Ratatouille I'll call her later."

Rick laughed as he was reminded of their friendly family dispute. When she'd shown them her proposed Thanksgiving menu, Rick had been inspired to say Michonne was gonna get her "Martha Stewart on". Michonne, however, likened herself to the famous black model/chef/restaurateur: B. Smith. But Carl sent them all into a giggle fit when he suggested their angelic amateur cook was more like the Disney rodent.

"She's gonna get you for that one." Rick grinned. "Love you, son."

"Love you, dad. Tell Michonne I love her, too."

When she heard Rick's key at the door, she stopped what she was doing in the kitchen. Wiping her hands, she came running, ready with two big kisses for her boys. But when Rick came through the door alone, Michonne could tell by the look on his face that Lori was creating another mess. To his surprise, instead of getting a 'glass half full speech' from his woman, she burst into tears.

Rick apologized and tucked her into his arms as she broke down, buried in his chest. He knit his brow, baffled at how hard she was taking it. He still wasn't used to seeing her cry. The few times he'd seen it, had broken his heart. Usually, she was the one encouraging him to be more optimistic in Hurricane Lori's wake.

When he was aggravated because of interference from his ex-wife, she'd exclaim, "Not today, Satan!" and steer him to a better mood. The conversation with Carl had already allayed his temper and he was happy to do the same for her now.

"Sweetheart, s'gonna be okay. Don't cry cuz'a Lori." he rocked her as she tried to catch her breath. "Carl said you'd understand. You're always telling him to cut her some slack."

" _Now_ he listens?" She croaked, sardonically, making Rick laugh. She let herself smile then and let that smile warm into a snigger.

Rick lifted her face out of his chest and wiped her tears. "He told me to tell you he loves you." She smiled. "And he called you Ratatouille again."

She laughed and let Rick hold her for a while. She let herself be comforted by the love she felt from them both and finally came to terms with this one setback. She took in his scent and slipped her fingers around his dark soft locks. She could use a little more comfort, she thought.

"There's still a few more hours before everybody gets here." Michonne said with a silky murmur against his lips. "You should take me in the room and..." Before she finished her suggestion, Rick had his hand up her dress and between her legs, rubbing firmly on her clit just the way she liked.

"What about your food?" He asked on a hungry kiss, recognizing the ripeness written all over her face even through the lids of her closed eyes. "Ain't nothin' gonna burn up, is it?"

She looked over her shoulder at the stove and turned back to his mouth with an answer, "Just me, daddy."


	20. Chapter 20

**Thanksgiving- Part Two**

Even though two of her favorite guys weren't speaking to each other, they still managed to gang up on her, trying to get her to go lie down and get some rest.

Rick had been very proud of her. He loved to watch her pull a scene together.

Though she was sluggish all day, from staying up most of the night before, chopping, peeling and prepping, she got up after a couple hours sleep and did the same thing all over again for charity. Then she came home to put the finishing touches on what turned out to be a delicious, beautiful dinner. She even survived a quickie at the foot of their bed and after a quick shower to freshen up, she left Rick sleeping buried face down in her pillows.

Michonne was kind enough to cater to Andrea. She made her best friend her own little vegan dinner: butternut squash soup and cranberry quinoa salad and a small batch of non-dairy oatmeal raisin cookies. There was one other thing she wanted for her friend that she couldn't whip up in a bowl.

"Talk to her, Bubba." She needled Shane every chance she got, despite his rolling eyes. "She eats fake scrambled eggs, Bubba. She's miserable." Michonne joked and Shane scoffed mildly amused. "At least admit you still love her."

Shane met his sister's eyes and his planned silent treatment on the subject crumbled. "For what, Mimi?" he cracked under the pressure. "I got a girlfriend. And looks like she's workin' her way to another boyfriend." He turned slightly on his bar stool and threw his head at Merle, who was pulling out all the stops to get Andrea to soften towards him a little.

Michonne rolled her eyes at the idea that Merle had a chance with Andrea. "Okay." His determined sister decided to take a different approach, "So tell me about your girlfriend. How'd you meet?"

Shane shifted in his seat with irritation. He knew Michonne would only build a case for Andrea no matter what he said. It was easy enough to do. He had his own mile-long list of evidence proving why no other woman would ever claim his heart. But he was trying to suppress those records and give Lori a chance.

"I met her where I work. She was out to dinner with 'er sister and she left her headlights on and her battery died." He droned out the explanation, leaning against the backrest on his seat, avoiding eye contact and fidgeting with some toothpicks that remained from a tray of finger foods. "I was standing at the bus stop watchin' the two of 'um try to give her car a jump." He laughed at the memory, "They were clueless. So, I went to help 'um and she ended up givin' me a ride home."

"One second, Bubba." Michonne paused his story with her finger. "Hey Blondie, you know how to jump a dead car battery don't you?" Andrea looked confused at the random question but nodded in the affirmative. Michonne turned back to Shane with a smug grin, "Okay, then what happened?"

"I ain't doin' this with you." Shane laughed at her antics.

"Good." Michonne bit at him from the bar stool beside him, "Because this story sucks. I know a better one. It goes: One day a beautiful... funny... fiercely dressed dark chocolate queen...

"Damn, she sounds amazing." Rick said from his spot at the sink, eavesdropping and scrubbing a pot.

"She was and still is." Michonne turned to him and confirmed with a wink. "She was amazing, and she was on a pen call with her occasionally funny brother, who _could_ be handsome... depending on the lighting... and who happened to be a convicted felon but was charming as hell...

"Mimi..." Shane halfheartedly tried to stop her from taking him back there but, truth was, he wanted to go. He didn't know it then but those gates and walls between him and Andrea had kept the actual world out of their relationship. Once he came home, love got hard for them. Life interfered.

"No, shut up, Bubba. You're gonna like this story." Michonne continued matter-of-factly, "So the sister and brother were arguing about who the best female rapper was back in the day. The beautiful sister correctly gave it to MC Lyte citing her favorite song by the artist- 'Ruffneck'. But her brother made the sad mistake of disagreeing with her and said the title should go to... can you guess, Bubba?"

"The Queen, of course. U.N.I.T.Y..." Shane slammed a hand on the counter top, every bit as convinced as he was that day years ago.

Michonne rolled her eyes at his conviction, "Yes. The brother said Queen Latifah. Who, for the record, was good but not the best." Rick chuckled at Michonne's slick enforcement of her verdict.

"Whatever." Shane crossed his arms defiant.

"That day, the beautiful sister..." Michonne stopped midsentence to add, "... Oh, did I mention she was a great dancer?" Shane groaned when Rick asked for a sample and Michonne promised him a private show.

" _This_ story is starting to suck." Shane said as he stuffed his mouth with two mushroom crostini.

"That's because I haven't gotten to the best part." Michonne teased. "The gorgeous sister had an equally gorgeous best friend with pretty blonde hair and money green eyes. And that best friend decided to add her two cents to the debate. Before the sister knew what happened, her best friend and her brother were having their own conversation and she fell asleep on the couch. And then they fell in love!" She pretended to swoon and had an idea, "Alexa, play Ruffneck by MC Lyte."

The gutter beat of the 90's ode to street superiors jumped through the space making Michonne bounce her shoulders in her seat. Rick bobbed his head at the sink, immediately feeling the knock that was novel to him and nostalgic to her.

Michonne nudged Shane's shin with her toe encouraging him to let the rhythm move him. He gave her a dead glance. "Alexa, Stop." he commanded the cloud service and turned to Rick with an unimpressed glance. "Hey, Rick. How long you said she's been up?"

"Too long." the man of the house chuckled.

"Go to bed, Mimi." Shane ordered her, cupping his hands around his mouth pretending to shout.

"No! Carl's gonna call. I'll go to bed once I talk to him." Michonne said taking a sip of cranberry juice.

"Baby, s'gettin' late. I don't think Lori's gonna let 'em call." Rick said blistering his ex, knowing Shane was in earshot.

Shane had to admit there was no way that Lori was really hurt from that accident this morning and maybe she was being a bit vindictive. But he understood why she was upset. Just because she was being a little petty didn't mean that everything she said about Rick wasn't true.

"If I get Carl on the phone for you, will you go lay down? Rick bargained.

Michonne sucked her teeth but agreed and Rick called Lori up knowing he'd have to pay the toll to the troll if he wanted to get to his son. Rick deliberately put the phone on speaker, so Shane could get a sense of the Lori Rick was used to dealing with.

Lori answered the phone in her most afflicted voice. "Hi, Rick."

"Lori." he ignored her shaky tone and consciously stopped himself from rolling his eyes, but he couldn't catch that sigh of annoyance before it escaped. He got right to the point. "Carl there?"

"Yeah. I'll get him. Did you hear I was in an accident this morning?" She redirected.

"Yeah." Rick answered with a full stop, shooting a glance to Shane wondering if he'd caught onto Lori's obsession with all things Lori.

Shane didn't catch Rick's look as he was picking through the platter of leftover hors d'oeuvres. But Rick noticed him chuckle and the irritated man in the middle wondered at the significance of that reaction. He looked to Michonne for a clarification, but she wasn't paying attention to Shane. She was just staring at Rick, she just wanted to talk to Carl.

Lori waited for a few beats to give Rick a chance to be sympathetic. She knew the odds of that were slim, but she still liked to try. "I texted you a couple times after... the... " she stuttered searching for an appropriate title for the chaos she caused at the baby shower, " ... the whole _thing_ last Saturday." moving on to what she imagined would be another fruitless topic. Still she tried, dropping her façade of injury and speaking with a sweeter, perkier tone that made Rick cringe even more, "I hear congratulations are in order."

"Lori," he began, already tired from his soul, "please don't pester Carl for details."

"I'm not." Lori gasped through a defensive chuckle. "I'm talking to _you_ right now. You and your girlfriend have a date yet?"

"Thanks. Yeah. The date is set. Look, If Carl's busy, just have him call me."

"No, he's just in his room." She kept Rick chomping at the bit. "He seems real excited about the wedding. Seems to like your fiancé. I haven't even talked to her yet. Is that on purpose?"

"Actually, I didn't think..."

"What? You didn't think I should at least _talk_ to the woman who'll be helping to raise my son?" She added a tart little dig "... _If_ you go through with this."

Rick decided to call her bluff. He reasoned maybe Michonne would have better luck. He'd seen her soften petty women before. "Well, she's sitting right here. You can talk to her now." He handed his confused lady his cell.

Lori was backtracking. "It doesn't have to be now... I was only suggesting..." She wasn't quite ready to talk to the woman who had been securing a spot in Rick and Carl's life. She wanted a little more information on her, so she'd know which cards to play with Michonne. She had never been more hard-pressed for an advantage than when it came to her unsuspecting rival.

Shane only ever talked about what he'd do if anything happened to Michonne. He was always asking questions about what happened between Lori and Rick, collecting information on his sworn enemy like Batman would do. That didn't help Lori any. In fact, it made it harder for her to keep her stories straight. Lori was really wondering if this relationship with Shane was worth the trouble. She knew life in Michonne's shadow would be unbearable for her. But, so far, the score was tied, 1-1, with Shane at Michonne's house and Carl there with her.

Michonne took the phone off speaker, "This is Michonne." She smiled nervously, trying to be amicable while trying not to get caught up in Lori's foolishness.

"Hi, Michonne? Am I pronouncing that right?"

"Yes. You got it."

"Good! This is Lori. I hear we'll have the same last name soon."

"I... guess we will." Michonne agreed, finding that comment somewhat creepy. Why she would keep the last name of the man who beat her is a question Shane should be asking. "It's nice to finally talk to you. You know you were welcome to come over with my brother."

"Welcome, huh?" Lori repeated doubtfully. "I don't think your husband-to-be would be very welcoming. He's still upset with me, I think."

"Yeah, maybe." Michonne curved that discussion.

"If you're going to be the kind of wife Rick wants, you probably shouldn't speak on his behalf like that. Just a little advice."

"I'll keep that in mind." Michonne screwed up her face wondering if Lori even realized she was doing exactly what she was warning against or if she was so bent on being insulting that she wasn't even listening to her own critique.

"Rick says you've picked a date. So, when's the big day?"

"February 14th."

Lori laughed. "Wow. Okay. A wedding on Valentine's Day? Do people still do that?"

"Well, the 14th is my Birthday..."

"That's romantic, I guess." She said rolling her eyes. "Rick will definitely save money on gifts with an anniversary, birthday and holiday all rolled into one." Lori surmised. "That may have been an oversight on your part, sweetie."

Michonne took a deep breath.

"And so soon? Well, I guess the quicker you do it the less time you have to change your mind."

"That's true. You're a smart lady." Rick raised his eyebrows skeptically and Shane mouthed a cautionary 'hey' to Michonne, catching her condescending tone.

Lori didn't catch it though. "And you seem sweet, yourself." _Sweet, but nothing special,_ Lori thought. " Probably why Carl likes you so much."

"Is he around? I was hoping to talk to-"

Lori cut her off, "Do you have any kids Michonne?"

"I don't."

"Motherhood isn't for everyone that's for sure. And doing it all alone is even harder."

 _She's doing it all alone now? This woman couldn't tell the truth to save her life._ "Have you talked to Rick about him having Carl more? I'm sure he would love to. I know I would."

"Well, that's because he doesn't give you the attitude he gives me... because you're not his mother." Lori said snidely. "That boy can be a handful... too much like his daddy." she said through an artificial laugh and added, "But, you know, as much grief as he gives me, Carl and I have a bond that can't be duplicated.

Michonne was running out of niceties. "You're lucky to have such a great son. I just wanted to talk to him and-"

"Well, just make sure you and Rick are settled before you start a _second_ family with him." Lori interrupted again, "Babies change everything."

Michonne pretended to claw at her face in frustration, making Rick laugh. But she took a crouton to the face from Shane. She rolled her eyes at him and Lori simultaneously. "I can imagine."

"Especially for men. Rick didn't know what to do with himself when Carl was born."

"I guess there's a bit of a learning curve because he's a terrific dad now."

"Yeah. Being a good dad was never his problem. It was the husband part that he struggled with."

"Well, Lori, we'll have the same last name, but our first names will still be different. So maybe the husband part will be easier for him this time around."

"I guess... we'll... see what happens." Lori made a point to add one more skeptical comment.

"Yup, So... Carl?" Michonne said insistently, thoroughly done with this ridiculous game. "He's not responding to our texts. I made his fav-"

"Yeah. I'll see if I can get him. Hold on..." Michonne heard Lori barely raise her voice to call Carl's name. Unless Carl was right in the room, she was sure there was no way he could have heard her. Lori came back to the call. "You know Michonne," she chuckled with a fraudulent apology, "I'm sorry, hon, He must have those damn headphones in."

"Well, could you go and get him, please? I'd really appreciate it."

"I wish I could. I don't know if your brother told you but, I was in a car accident today and so I'm kinda bed-ridden. But I will tell him you guys called. Enjoy your Thanksgiving."

"But, I..." Michonne heard the electronic bleep of the ended call and handed the phone back to Rick who was standing there puzzled. She kept her eyes on Shane, silently looking at his numskulled expression.

She placed her palms together like a prayer for serenity, lightly tapping her fingertips under her nose. She took a deep breath to gather herself, "Bubba." She began very calmly, but like Rick she could not keep that annoyed sigh from escaping. "Bubba, please tell me you are not serious about this woman.

Rick smirked at Michonne's reaction and Shane shot him an unfriendly look. "What happened?" Her brother asked naively.

"What happened?!" Michonne repeated, perplexed. "Did I talk to Carl?"

"No."

"No." Rick added smugly, "You got a front row seat to the Lori show."

Michonne turned to Rick and agreed, realizing just how much he had to endure dealing with Lori for the sake of his son. Michonne was ready to smother the woman with a pillow after one conversation.

 _How did Rick do this for years. How IS he doing it?_ She thought as she verbalized her full understanding of the Lori Show. "Yes. I did and it's an awful show. Shane Walsh how are you dating this woman? I'm starting to think she's blackmailing you... or something. You cannot find this brand of woman attractive."

"Why? What'd she say?"

"Well, aside from the fact that she told me she was bed-ridden from the accident that _you_ wouldn't even qualify as a fender bender?"

"Bedridden?" Shane laughed.

Rick confirmed, "Sounds like Lori."

"She was also very condescending to your Mimi." Michonne informed him.

"C'mon." he laughed it off. "You were being a jerk, too."

"Well, since your evil girlfriend wouldn't let me talk to my young padawan, I'm not going to bed."

"Yes, you are!" both her fellas fussed in unison.

"Oh, so now you two become best friends?" Michonne asked with a quirked brow. I'm a grown woman. In case y'all forgot."

"Go to bed, 'Chonne..." Rick demanded with a smoldering glare.

"20 more minutes."

"Goodnight, Mimi." Shane cosigned.

"You're gonna make me count?" Rick asked with a menacing smirk. He scoffed, "Okay... Okay... I'm countin'." He paused for dramatic effect staring right at his woman. "Ten..."

"Go get some rest." Tyreese encouraged her. "You did a wonderful job. Now rest."

"Nine..."

"Resist, auntie. Don't let nobody run you!" Abe Jr. backed up his aunt.

Michonne crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back on her stool, resolute. "Oh, you know I'm not, A.J."

"Eight..." Rick called with authority.

Glenn called down from the loft. "Mimi, you look like you're about to pass out right there."

Rick dried his hands on a dish towel, "Seven..." He abandoned his count, bounded around the large kitchen island and scooped Michonne into his arms like a baby, literally taking the matter into his own hands.

"Rick!" Michonne protested under the loud cries of approval from her guests.

The announcement of her departure by Shane amused the party as they all waved her off. "Y'all say g'night to your occasionally culinary hostess, who's a second-rate dancer and usually overdressed."

Now in their room, Rick lowered her to sit on her side of the bed. Right away, she plummeted back into the mattress whining through a moan, "Ugh! I'm so tired, babe!" Rick grinned as she dropped her energetic guise. He unfastened her jewelry, setting it on the nightstand, and lifted her dress over her head. Michonne yawned as his big hands pulled back the sheets and she climbed in, "Thanks for all your help today. I love you so much."

"Scooch." he directed her with a snap of his head and she made room for him to sit beside her. He just looked at her in admiration through the prisms of his radiant blues. He gently rearranged her hair around her face and slid his hand past her neck cupping her face and stroking the apple of her cheek with his thumb. Michonne looked askance wondering at his silent affection. "You're amazing." He spoke before she could. "You're amazing and I'm amazed."

Michonne tittered at his declaration, both elated and embarrassed by his regard for her.

"You know, the world is fulla fools, Michonne." He said with a straight face and a melancholy tone. "Carol, Daryl, Shane and Drea. Lori, too, with this whole thang with Carl. All of 'em playing games with love 'steada lettin' love have its way." His thumb grazed over the kiss of her lips. "I'd be one of 'em, 'f it wasn't for you. That time we were apart was hard as hell for me. All that time, I was fightin' with myself tryna find a way _through_ to you and tryna find a way _back_ to you at the same time... breakin' my own heart and..."

"Rick?" Michonne reached for his hand and placed it on her heart as she tried to imagine what he was trying to say.

Sometimes Rick got reflective, especially when Michonne flaunted her magic. When he looked at her laying in _their_ bed, Rick felt like he was getting away with murder. His heart would be ripped apart by the urge to say something profound. He _thought_ it was profound or maybe it was just the bottomless brown eyes that made philosophy seem like a piece of cake.

"It was hard as hell for me. But..." he took a deep breath and smiled. "You made that call." He relived the moment when he heard her say she needed him and let it fill him up. "I gotta be honest, didn't think you would. But I'm so happy you did, 'Chonne. I'm so happy you're willin' to be my wife and make a life with me. I don't know... I look at the thangs you can do, like everythang you did today... _by yourself..."_ he stressed, unwilling to take any credit for her hard work _,_ "And I just think about a future with you... I hit the damn jackpot the day I met you." He scoffed at that understatement and his voice broke just a little. "And I hope you know how much I love you."

There was no way she would've ever made that call if Rick hadn't shown her the way. If you would have told her last year, when she was cutting up with Mike, that she would've made that call she would have sued for libel. Now looking back, that was one of her proudest moments.

Michonne couldn't speak as his sincerity overwhelmed her and glistened her eyes, she simply nodded and kissed his hand, turning over snuggling into her spot.

"Don't worry about these hooligans out here." He said as he made his way to the door. "I'm gonna start throwin' people out soon."

"Wait, Rick!" she called him back for one final note. "Make Blondie talk to Bubba, Okay?"

"Damn, woman!" He grinned, dousing the light. "Goodnight."


	21. Chapter 21

**Thanksgiving- Part Three**

Glenn and Maggie were leaving when Rick returned from putting Michonne to bed. They still had to make appearances at both of their family's houses before their night was over. Not to mention Glenn had to lead an online co-op campaign search and rescue mission and Maggie was making her debut as his second in command. The couple had a deal that she'd try to take gaming more seriously if he'd put on a tux and go to more of her public events.

Merle cut out soon after. He gave it everything he had yet Andrea, miraculously, was not ready to jump his bones. He was deeply vexed and befuddled. He packed up all his best moves to take them somewhere they would be appreciated.

His local watering hole was open until midnight, despite the holiday, for the bachelors, bottle blondes and busty brunettes who preferred beers to blood. He thanked the Stud Gods that he'd be able to fire on all cylinders in the right environment as the lady-killer he was.

Carol promised to take Daryl home since he'd come with his brother. The silver-haired capo of Dixon-Grimes Security sat on the plush rug near the gas fireplace with the sleepy-eyed co-founder of the company. Propped up against the long heavy ottoman, they were two inches and two seconds away from being neck-deep in a "professional" and "platonic" cuddle.

Tyreese and Noah had also said their goodbyes to go stand in line for Black Friday sales. Noah had begged his dad to come as the "muscle". When the tenderhearted giant admitted to being nervous about possible altercations over merchandise, Noah told him he'd do the shit-talking as long as he nailed an intimidating stare.

And with the kids getting cranky, Sasha had given Belly to Andrea while she and Abe coated, hatted and scarfed their boys.

Andrea sat at the head of the dining table in the corner of the big space. She was as far away from everyone as she could be, while still able to hear the conversations around her. She was cradling Annabelle's head in her palms. The baby's still little body rested on her forearms and her tiny socked feet rested in the blonde woman's lap. The miniature white romper she wore was somewhat big on her, but the soft fuzzy fabric made her feel like a plush stuffed animal. Andrea just sat there looking at her, taking in her scent.

She was wondering what kind of mother she would be, if she ever got the opportunity. It was an idea she was becoming more and more detached from. The only man she would ever consider doing something that big with was ready to do it with somebody else. At least that's, what he'd told Michonne. Andrea found it hard to believe, though.

It was hard enough to believe that they had broken up in the first place, never mind the fact that he had actually moved on.

On a deep yawn, itty bitty arms shot up, stretching above little Belly's hair covered head. The newborn settled again after squirming and parting her eyes just a fraction. She was still asleep and smiling intermittently through whatever dreams her brain could be making up in her few days of existence in the world. Andrea took a breath in awe, when a shadow crept over the baby's peaceful face.

Andrea looked up to find Shane reclining against the heavy table looking down at his feet, arms and ankles crossed. "Hey." he said with a whisper.

It may have seemed like he was speaking softly so as not to disturb the baby, but truth was, Andrea was taking his breath away. In her little rust-colored suede mini skirt, dark brown tights and booties. Her ponytail ended in little silky ringlets and the big brocade pashmina scarf around her neck gave her the appearance of an alabaster bust crafted to be revered to time immemorial.

He'd been trying not to stare at her all evening. He was trying to ignore the light flowery fragrance she wore that made his blood pump recklessly. He was trying and he was failing miserably.

"Hey, Bubba." She answered back with an instant smile that she tried her best to dim. It didn't work so she deflected to the baby, "Isn't she cute?"

"Yeah." He looked at the tiny stranger thoughtfully. "A spoonful'a sugar if I ever seen one."

Andrea peered at him, furtively, from under her side-swept bang. She was nervous to ask but she had to. "So, are you trying yet?"

"What's that?" He shrank his eye with confusion.

"Trying for a baby."

"Nah." He seemed honestly surprised by the question. "This thang with Lori 's new. We ain't that serious yet."

She took a breath, the first one since he'd began the conversation. "Oh," Andrea's eyes stayed fixed on the serene face of the infant in her hands. "Sounded serious at the baby shower..."

The mention of the baby shower sent a jolt of guilt through Shane. He felt bad about it all through the movie and dinner that night with Lori. He really hadn't meant for Andrea to know about her. He knew it would hurt her.

He _didn't_ know that Lori had deliberately disregarded his instructions to stay in the car. She came into Sasha's house under the pretense of their approaching movie time. But Lori just wanted to be nosey and recognized by his family as his new girlfriend, despite him obviously wanting their relationship to be kept under wraps a little longer.

"I wanted to apologize about that whole thang." He said. Instinctively, he presumed to push her hair out of her eyes, just like she liked, and Andrea did not object. "What I said about you wasting my time. I'm sorry... I wasted my _own_ time... gettin' high and goin' t' jail. And I just didn't want to wait anymore... for nothin'. I admit it... I rushed you..." He lowered his head in regret, "I rushed you."

"And now after all the trust we built together, you're rushing into something else with Rick's crazy ex-wife..."

"Excuse me, you two." Sasha caught Andrea's question/statement as she came to collect Belly. "Sorry to interrupt." she said, smiling. Andrea stood up to pass the baby easier to her mother. Then Sasha just stood there, her eyes shifting between her brother and Andrea.

She had some things she wanted to say to them both. Michonne had given it her best effort to get them to do the right thing. But Michonne didn't have the commandeering tone she need to get through to a rockhead like Shane.

"Actually, I'm not sorry. You two piss me the fuck off." She whispered bouncing her sleeping newborn. Sasha decided, on a dime, to tell them something only Michonne knew. "You know Abe cheated on me when he was stationed in the Philippines?" She spat the confidential news to them like they had something to do with it. "He got drunk. Made a dumb ass mistake and tried to cover it up."

It had been the hardest truth Sasha ever had to face. "The crap y'all are whining about is nothing compared to that!Abraham was perfect for me and then he did the worst thing imaginable. But I asked myself, even though he fucked up, am I ever gonna find another Abraham Ford?" She turned to Shane, "You are rushing. Patience was never one of your talents. But your ass didn't have a choice when you were inside. You waited because that's what you _had_ to do." She brought a hand from under Annabelle's bottom and pushed her finger in his chest. "Andrea says wait. You wait. You love her? You trust her? Then wait."

Andrea felt responsible for him getting chewed out and tried to come to his rescue. "Sash..."

But Sasha turned to scold her too. "And I can't believe you're talking about the trust you built together when you don't trust my brother enough to be his wife and start a family, when you agreed that _that_ was the plan when he got out. I can't believe Mimi's flaky ass committed to Rick inside a year and y'all been doing this for years and still don't know your elbow from your asshole."

Shane, having been on the receiving end of a merciless tongue-lashing from Sasha more times than he could count, stood there waiting for her to finish with his head down. But Andrea felt the need to plead her case.

"Sasha, I tried to..." Shane reached to hold her hand and quiet her from saying anything that might really get his sister riled up. Andrea looked at Shane's posture and quickly followed suit.

"I know I said you could ride home with us but, I think Blondie should take you, so you guys can talk."

"Sasha, I have a girlfriend. I can't be ridin' with my ex-" Shane objected in his most exasperated voice, rubbing his forehead.

"I'm sorry Shane but, fuck Laura."

"Lori!"

"Whoever! If she was it, you'd be with her right now." She waved a dismissive hand. "So, you got him. Right, Blondie?" Sasha laid down the law and Andrea nodded.

"Good. Happy Thanksgiving."

After the departure of the Ford clan, the quiet of the space made it clear that Thanksgiving at Rick and Michonne's had come to an end. Daryl and Carol left a few minutes later after reminding the man of the house to congratulate his lady on an amazing dinner. Leaving Rick seated at the kitchen island in an awkward silence with Shane who was wearing his coat, posted up by the door while Andrea made a pit stop before they left.

She pussyfooted into the master bedroom where Michonne was sound asleep. The bright light from the hallway fell across her face, rousing her.

"Everybody gone?" She whispered to the figure entering the room assuming it was Rick, when Andrea's voice answered back.

"No. Sorry Mimi. You know I'm always the last to leave your house. I just need to get a couple tampons to hold me over 'til the morning. Nothing'll be open this time of night and I'm not paying convenience store prices for a generic brand." She fussed as she made her way across the bedroom and pushed into the master bathroom like she was in her own house.

"Go ahead. Take as many as you need." Michonne said groggily, as she checked her phone for the time. **10:38**. Her phone buzzed with an illuminated screen displaying the picture of her and Carl from their trip to the amusement park and his contact name **Young Skywalker**. She answered it with a smile.

"Hey. It's late. How'd-"

Carl cut her off whispering, "Sorry 'Chonne. Is Shane still there?"

"Shane? No, I think only Drea is here." Andrea called from behind the bathroom door that Shane was still out there with Rick. Michonne corrected herself, "Never mind. Yeah, he's still here, Carl. Why?"

"Can you put your phone on mute and put it on speaker for him?"

"Okay." Michonne got up to find her brother in the apartment. "What's going on, Carl? Why are you whispering?" She asked, automatically matching his hushed tone. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." He rushed her, "Is he there yet?"

"Yeah." She answered Carl, walking up to Shane. "It's Carl." She informed her brother. "He wants you... I don't know what he wants. He told me to put you on the call."

"Me?" Shane asked unsure. Michonne looked at Rick's equally puzzled features.

"He said." She shrugged holding up the phone on speaker.

"Mute it!" Carl reminded her in a strong whisper and she did.

Carl had been headed back from the bathroom when he noticed his mother's bedroom door open. In the dark of the room he saw a small blinking blue light like a beacon between her pillows. It was his phone.

He'd been looking for it all day to call his dad and Michonne. His thoughts clouded as it dawned on him that his mother intentionally hid it from him. _How could she? Why would she?_ He had been compassionate and considerate enough to stay there with her all day. Then when he saw their ignored texts and missed calls, he started an angry march downstairs to find and confront her about it.

When he reached the bottom of the steps, he heard her syrupy quiet giggle and squinted in irritation instead of rolling his eyes, but he couldn't catch that sigh of annoyance before it escaped. He turned to go back to his room, content to wait until morning to hear her explanation, until-

"He was good enough to stay with his poor accident-prone mother." She said with a pouty inflection followed by scandalized laughter in response to whatever her caller said. "When you put it like that, I think maybe I should have let him go with his dad."

Carl wondered who she could have been speaking to. He would have assumed his Aunt Leslie but the voice his mother was putting on was the one she reserved for people who didn't know her well. The shifting glow of the TV spasmed across the room. She had it on but muted. He peered around the corner to see her sitting in the unlit living room, with her back to him on the couch.

"Well, Negan, what did you have in mind?" She purred.

 _Negan?_ Carl wondered at the unfamiliar name and after a brief pause, he heard his mother ask in a flirtatious voice, "What does it depend on?"

Carl had no doubt now she was talking to a guy... and the conversation did not sound too innocent. He shook his head at her behavior. He was the spitting image of a disappointed Rick Grimes.

First, she drags his dad's name through the mud, then she tries to keep Shane from Michonne. Maybe his dad was right and that was adult stuff that he shouldn't be in the middle of. But his mother didn't hesitate to guilt him into staying home with her. She knew how much he was looking forward to today.

Carl's mind started racing. He knew his dad didn't trust her. He knew Shane _shouldn't_ trust her. Up until a week ago he didn't even know she was seeing Shane and now this new guy... how many guys were there? Maybe Carl couldn't trust her either. That was a hard line to cross but looking at the body of evidence, it seemed more and more likely that she was not the victim she always painted herself to be.

Hiding his phone and keeping him from Michonne and his father all day was a twisted move that made him question other times when his phone mysteriously disappeared. He thought he was just irresponsible like she said but as he put the puzzle pieces together he remembered his "forgetfulness" often coincided with his mother being unhappy with his father.

He leaned against the wall in the stairway listening to his mother laugh it up with this Negan. He wanted to show her that playing games with people's lives and hearts and reputations had repercussions. He knew if his dad were in this situation he'd say, "People get what's comin' to 'um. Just sit back an' watch the show." His father was cool like that, farsighted and discreet.

But...

What would Michonne do?

Carl knew her. She was a force to be reckoned with. When his dad got on her nerves she made sure he knew it... and regretted it... when he least expected revenge. Michonne had that quick wit and sharp tongue that Rick always fell prey to. For the most part it was playful button-pushing that they laughed about later.

And on her twitter, Carl would classify Michonne's clap back as legendary. She spoke her mind, and if you came for her she made you her special project until you were ruined. She called it serving "petty spaghetti". Maybe his mother needed a bowl.

Carl prayed that Shane was still there. His plan had almost fallen apart when she told him her brother was gone. But the most devious smile played at Carl's lips when Michonne corrected herself and followed his instructions with barely a reservation. His heart swelled that she had his back that way.

Now, he pushed the side button to sleep the screen and sat on the floor next to the couch, right behind Lori's head. Shane, Michonne and Rick all looked uncertain as they heard Lori laughing without knowing the reason for so much secrecy on their end. Rick approached Michonne and her brother trying to hear a little better.

"If he was really my boyfriend he'd be with me on Thanksgiving, right?" She said to the man on the phone. "At least _you_ were gentleman enough to call to check on me."

"Who is she talking to?" Michonne wondered out loud.

Lori was silent as the man on the line spoke and then she continued, "It's been a while since I had one of those. Is that what you are, Negan Louis? A real man."

That name rang a bell for Shane, but not a crystal clear one. He racked his brain trying to remember where he'd heard that name from before. _Negan. Negan Louis_. He kept repeating in his mind. The name was odd enough to stay afloat in his memory, but he couldn't remember-

"Wait." he said looking at Michonne. He chuckled as he recognized the memory of the name and marveled at Lori's audacity.

Michonne saw acknowledgement on her brother's face. "You know him?" she asked eagerly.

"It's the fuckin' guy she rear-ended this mornin'." he spat amazed. "The guy in the Beamer. Damn."

He slumped against the door. He had the answer, but he was still trying to put two and two together. He was trying to think of how they could have exchanged numbers. He was right there the whole time in Alpha mode.

Well, at least until the police got there. His reluctance to deal with the cops in anyway had drove him back into the car. That must have been when it happened. _Right in front of my face_. He did his signature stance, arms and ankles crossed as he continued to listen to Lori flirt with this slimy douche. "Hang up, Mimi. I heard enough." he said.

Carl saw the screen alert him to the end of the call and he smirked to himself as he made his way back to bed, he sent Michonne a gif from the movie '8 Mile' of Eminem puking over a toilet with the caption " _Mom's Spaghetti_ ". It was a reference to her banner for revenge. A message of no retreat or surrender from the song 'Lose Yourself'. She snickered at her white son's subtle skill for retribution.

Rick caught a glimpse of the gif on her phone. He caught her eye about to question what she found so amusing when Andrea walked down the hallway. "Well, R.I.P. to those panties." she said as she met the others at the door, completely unaware of the tea that had just been served by Carl. "What the hell, Mimi." Andrea held up a blue box. "They had a sale on tampons? You stocked up and ain't tell me?"

Michonne was confused. She opened her mouth to ask her friend what she meant. But Andrea continued,

"Don't worry. I left you more than enough. You get your period before or after me? I can never remember."

"Before." Michonne whispered as her eyes went wide with realization. She stared into space, trying to remember her last period. She couldn't believe what her calculations were confirming. She looked at Rick, delirious, in a partial panic as Andrea's rant about her period turned to white noise.

Rick bulged his eyes expecting her to answer his unasked question. When she just stood there like a deaf mute, he finally asked her outright, "The hell's _mom's spaghetti_?"


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: This chapter immediately follows the last. This was shaping up to be another 3 part update, but I wanted to get this chapter out first to see what y'all think. So let me know. It'll help me with the next chapters.**

 **Thanks for all your support and reviews.**

 **~comewithnattah**

* * *

"I'll explain it later, babe." She told Rick with a distant stare and a formulated smile. _Much later,_ she thought. The objective foremost in her mind involved the breakdown of her monthly cycle. She did not have time to draw the charts and diagrams needed to explain 'mom's spaghetti' to her man. He had a universal expertise but somehow always found himself playing catch up to the banter between his lady and his son.

Michonne kept a straight face through her brand-new realization as Shane helped Andrea into her coat. He looked every bit as if he was slipping treasure into a velvet bag for safekeeping. _Maybe he's coming around_ , she took a moment to suppose. She hoped this was the night for revelations on all fronts.

Michonne got a hint that her wish had come true with Carol and Daryl's flinching release of each other when Rick opened the door to the building's main hall. They hadn't even made it to the elevator bank. From the sight of things, Carol had hemmed Daryl in between the corridor's wall and her lips.

The possible mother-to-be barely reacted to those significant sights of the night. She had only vague cognition of Rick's quip that there would either be an impending workplace harassment claim or two empty desks in the office come morning. And his notion that things between him and Shane went better than expected would have been echoed by Michonne, if she'd been paying attention. But she wasn't paying attention.

She didn't text Carl back. She didn't call Andrea or Shane for any details of their night. She didn't even make a move on Rick when he climbed into bed.

He thanked his own Stud Gods that she was being merciful and letting him rest one night. After making good on her promise to collect all her postponed orgasms from their time apart, Rick swore he'd never be in the arrears with her again.

Now, she laid in the dark, stroking his sleeping head and thinking. _A baby._ She grinned to herself. _This was not the plan. How could this have happened?_

Michonne had never worked so hard to replay her life.

Her last period had to have been weeks and weeks ago, but she couldn't pinpoint exactly when. _I know November is clear._ Most of October Rick was staying with Daryl, leading up to her making that humbling call. _But I had TWO unopened boxes of tampons. Must've been before last month_. _September?_ She squinted, trying to remember.

She sat up quietly to grab her phone. Consulting her period tracking app left her disappointed. The app had one major flaw: for it to be useful, it had to be _used_.

 _Gaaaahhhh!_ she groaned internally, wishing she was more like Andrea with all her ledgers and spreadsheets and files. Her best friend may have had cold feet about moving forward with her plans, but she definitely had every detail written down somewhere. _Why don't you write stuff down!?_ she fussed at herself.

Then she remembered. _You do!_

She pulled her crossed legs under her and put on her game face. She went to her social media accounts and scrolled until she found the last time she complained about cramps. She found a saved Snap with the caption-

 **Anyone ever had cramps so bad that you no longer trust your uterus?**

 _It was the end of August!_ _Doesn't say what day I started but..._

She decided to be pleased with that bit of info. She scrolled back in time a little more and found a random tweet that read,

 **Mexico is the sexiest place in the world... for two more weeks.**

So, _the last time I had a period, Rick was in Mexico. Before we even had sex!_

"Well, look at that, baby cakes." she whispered to her belly, "You hitched a ride early. Didn't you?" She looked over at her handsome knocker-upper's conked out face and spoke just as quietly, "And you came out the gate guns blazing, huh?" Far from shooting blanks like she'd teased on their first date, Rick, apparently had a deadly aim.

Looking back at her phone, all her personal accounts went quiet for a few weeks. There were a few promotional shots of her handiwork at a wedding, music video set and fundraiser uploaded to the business account. The images jogged her memory. _That was right after our trip to the beach_.

She'd lost her sketch book and her voice that weekend. _Yeah, I was wearing myself out with work in September. Rick was wearing me out too._ She smiled, remembering how she became so obsessed with the way he fucked her when he was in work-mode and the thrill of his Colt Python in arm's reach on the nightstand.

 _Can't remember but... the whirlwind that September was? I could see me forgetting to take my pill once or twice. I don't forget that often... but I just haven't been vigilant._ Those six months of no sex, the last thing on her mind was birth control. _Maybe I was a little rusty getting back on schedule._

Looking at the progression of their relationship in the form of posted pictures was like comfort food for Michonne. She was constantly adding new memories but she hardly ever took a moment to look back. Now that her thumb pulled up happy stills from the well of her digital life, she saw how lucky she was. Not that she ever forgot, but it was filling to see, just the same.

The picture of the paintings from their first date, side by side on their easels, made her smile. They now hung in their hallway and she saw them every day. But something about the flashback to the night of their creation, the sheen of paint still wet on the canvass, made her think about the creation of a life _for_ Rick and Michonne. The creation of a life _by_ Rick and Michonne.

She giggled looking at the video of Rick moving his things into her house. Daryl gave Rick such a hard time about him living at such a swank city address. "Don't think I'mma be gettin' no manicures wit'cha at that spa downstairs." Daryl had said as he pranced around mocking his buddy.

She worked to make sure Carl's new quarters in her spare room were inviting. Michonne had been so worried that Carl would be too cramped for his weekend stays. But he was so thankful that she'd made personal accommodations for him, the square footage was of no concern. As happy as she was to have him, he was happy to be had.

The first weekend her "white son" had stayed under their shared roof, Michonne and Rick had set him up and gone to bed whispering about how easily everything was falling into place. She laid on his bare chest in the dark as Rick rubbed her arm gently and thanked her for being what she was to Carl: the best friend he couldn't always be.

Reminiscing on that moment made her tear up, now, the same way she had that night.

This night should have been like that one- with Carl happy in the room next door. She hadn't paid any attention to Lori's advice from their conversation earlier, but Michonne was quietly taking notes on what _not_ to do as a mother from Rick's ex. She felt sorry for Carl and for Lori. But she couldn't drum up any self-pity. Even without Carl there, she had his love.

She had everything she wanted.

She wasn't sure how Carl would take the news about a brother or sister. She knew he'd be happy, but he'd been the only kid for so long and his relationship with his father was so special.

 _I hope he doesn't feel threatened by this._ Maybe he wouldn't be as gung ho as she hoped. But he'll be a great big brother. Just like Bubba.

 _Oh, my god!_ she smiled imagining Uncle Bubba with her child _, Bubba is gonna..._ she thought about Rick's relationship with her brother and decided with a shrug, _Bubba's just gonna have to get himself together and cut the crap._

Her brother was going to have to give up the idea that he had to protect her from Rick. Shane was going to have to give up that idea just like she had to give it up when she asked Rick to come home. She gave up the "free Mimi" mentality. She gave up the thought that giving Rick what he wanted meant giving up more than she could afford.

When she thought about what she had given up to get everything she had... and now, what was hopefully coming, she couldn't think of anything she missed in her life before Rick.

 _I took that pill faithfully with Mike._ She scoffed with amused disbelief that she ever gave him the time of day or a year of time. _And he was quick to strap up. Neither one of us wanted to end up pregnant. And thank the Lord we never did._

She looked down at Rick and pushed her fingers lovingly through his mane again. His muscled back was catching the moonlight, showcasing his physical strength and giving her pause to appreciate his internal fortitude, as well. _Everything he's been through because of a woman; he should have been real stingy with the nut. But this dude..._ she giggled, _He's been making more deposits than a billionaire._

Her mind skipped through a ramble of her reasoning, _I'm sure he thought everything was cool because I was on birth control. I mean, so did I. I just wasn't as panicked at the idea of getting pregnant... by HIM. Hope he doesn't think I did this on purpose. I can't believe that forgetting to take one pill would be such a game changer._

She googled birth control effectiveness and indeed, missing even ONE pill increases the chance of conceiving. _But, damn, not by much... I mean, come on._ But in the back of her mind, she was sure she skipped many, many more than one.

Michonne felt like, even though it was POSSIBLE, it was still a miracle that this happened at all. She'd never had a pregnancy scare in her life. But now when she felt like she was ready and with a man like Rick, it wasn't a pregnancy _scare_. She felt a real sense of security. _Grimes Security,_ she made the corny connection, _That's his job and he does it well._

She was sure she would never figure it all out. It was overwhelming to contemplate all the unknown variables that got one of Rick's swimming soldiers to the target. _It was meant to be._

 _But she still couldn't believe this was the result so soon after they started having sex. Guess my Sex Ed teacher was right it only takes one time. They say that all the time, nobody believes it. Okay... this is crazy as hell! A baby! I wonder when it happened? That time at his job on his desk? That time in the stairwell of my office building? On our trip? The first time? That time he was drunk?_ She snickered at the memory of his red-faced slurring and constant drunken singing _..._

 _Oh, shit!_ The amusement of that scene gave way towide concerned eyes when she remembered _, I was drunk a few weeks ago!_ The night she called Rick to apologize and asked him to come home, she was sloshed off of Tequila. The pain of his absence was just too hard to bear and she decided again that if she couldn't live forever with Rick she would finally find a vice to put her out of her misery... at least for the night. She scolded herself, _You never tasted alcohol in your entire life and you wait until you're pregnant to get completely wasted?_

She apologized to the little castaway that she was starting to picture inside her, _Your Daddy had me on the edge then. I didn't know you were in there. My poor little bean. I hope you're okay._

She quickly googled 'Got Drunk Before I Knew I Was Pregnant'. She read story after story of women who were recreational drinkers and found out they were pregnant after a weekend of heavy drinking. They all talked about how guilty they felt. But ultimately they all said their babies were fine. Michonne breathed a sigh of relief.

But then she read about women who missed their periods even though they weren't pregnant. She began to come down off her elation as she began to think maybe she wasn't pregnant after all. _I was on birth control._ _Seems more likely that I'm not pregnant and there's some other explanation._

Michonne googled and googled: birth videos, pictures of mixed babies, baby names, houses for sale and maybe the most important thing: maternity fashion. She found so many different pictures, videos, experiences and data that she decided, the first thing she needed to do was find out for sure if she was pregnant before she went too far down this rabbit hole she was digging.

She finally fell asleep. But after a nightmare about being on the Maury Show, she woke up with a silent, sweaty start to the morning sun. Her subconscious had created the horror of a DNA test that said her baby was Mike's and a devastated Rick ran off the stage crying.

Michonne scrambled to get to her feet, in a mad dash to the store for a pregnancy test.

She had been sleeping, spooned and cozy, in the warmth of Rick's embrace. With the sudden coolness inundating the covers, Rick sprang awake, too, grabbing her at her hips.

"What's wrong, Chonne? Where you goin'?" He asked on a rush to his heart.

"Sorry to wake you, babe." she smiled sweetly trying to hide the smoke that she thought must have been coming from her ears as the gears in her head spun out of control. She calculated quickly for a cover he'd believe. She was hoping he was still sleepy enough to roll over and leave her to it. "I had an idea." she said vaguely, hoping he would assume it was an art-related inspiration and she was going to dabble in her paint. "Just gotta go flush it out."

Rick studied her face trying to decide if he would let her go or pull her back into bed. This time of morning his dick was hard enough to cut diamonds and since he'd been home, she took advantage every chance she got. But after last night's respite, his antenna was activated. Something was up.

Michonne was still smiling to be convincing.

"Are you up to somethin'?"

"Aren't I always?" She answered with a sultry wink.

He scoffed and relented suspiciously. "Mmhmm." Something was definitely up, but he let her go and fell back in his pillow as he playfully warned, "I hope you're being good."

"Aren't I always?"

"Yeah... Okay..." he mumbled unconvinced and rolled his gorgeous rippled body over, substituting Michonne for a pillow.

She went up to the loft and got out a few of her supplies and did a quick sketch for an alibi, which turned out to be pretty good, considering her mind was somewhere else the entre time she pushed her pencil around her paper. Then after about 20 minutes she assumed he'd be asleep and tipped back into their room headed to the closet. He didn't move as she snuck around her own room like a thief. She got dressed and made it out the apartment undetected and came back in with a bag from the corner drug store, just as soft-footed.

It registered almost immediately, well before the three minute window the box designated. **PREGNANT** the indicator practically screamed in dark blue lettering and Michonne screamed as well, turning with a flurry in her small half bath. She practically skipped down the hall to her bedroom jumping on Rick's slumbering body.

"Michonne!" her love cried for mercy. " What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing yet." she giggled as he turned her over on her back. "But you'll fix that, won't you? You should be good and rested. I let you sleep last night and late this morning." She made her case for his expert attention as she kissed all over his face.

"Never seen you in such a good mood this early." He said looking her over with his hair in a jumble as his weariness faded and amusement took over his face, "What's up?"

"I'm just happy."

He knew there had to be more to the bright sunniness of her smile but all he said was, "Good. I like it when you're happy."

Rick rose from the bed and ambled to the bathroom to take a leak followed by Michonne all aflutter. She was still smiling brightly, sitting atop the counter between the matching sinks watching him brush his teeth. "So what time do you have to leave?" she asked him pushing his hair away from his eyes. "You got time to take care of me before you go?" She knew what his answer would be. She just loved to hear him comply with her requests.

Rick grinned with his toothbrush still sweeping those pearly whites hedged in the middle of gray scruff. He shook his head at her seemingly incurable libido. He dropped his toothbrush back in its holder and splashed his face with water.

His voice came confident and calculated in the acoustics of the room, "I could prob'ly help you out." Cutting his eye to Michonne's hand wrapped around his broad, sturdy forearm, "Yeah..." he reiterated, as she pulled him to her and he came to stand between her knees.

Michonne sat eye level with Rick taking in his features noticing how much of him was in Carl. She wondered how it worked: what would determine which characteristics their baby would inherit from her; what Rick might bestow upon the growing life inside her; how their physical traits would meld to make a brand new little nose, two eyes, ears, lips…

She thought about it right up until the lips in front of her irrupted with purpose across her own. The sweet taste of spearmint from his tongue, clean and cool, activated her hands to reach for his face and stretch her fingers through his facial hair.

She pulled him close with her legs as he tugged at her hips until he brought her to the edge of the sink, feeling the soft texture of her panties and pushing himself keenly against her pelvis like he was in a high-speed chase and she was the gas pedal.

It was always a catch 22 for him: wanting her naked but enjoying the exhibition of her in those bikini-cuts that could barely keep her smooth, dark thickness contained.

Today he let her keep them on.

He hooked the seat of the gold-colored nylon underwear and yanked it to the side. Michonne leaned back, resting on her palms, completely captivated by the sight of Rick's instantaneous need of her. Her eyes, like his, were fixed as he smacked the warm heavy head of his dick hard on the sensitive nucleus of nerves already throbbing between her thighs.

He just couldn't see that part of her without a taste, so he backed up and dipped forward with his tongue. With no warm-up routine, he immediately commenced the swirling pattern that he knew would make her moan. He smiled when she did and held her tighter as she squirmed.

"You..." she panted through the slippery motion of his tongue, " ...don't ...have ... to..."

"I wanna." His country accent was thick sending a different sort of shiver through to her core. He latched on with purpose and she squeezed her eyes shut.

Still struggling to keep her thoughts clear enough to talk, she told him, "I was ready..." she sucked in a breath suddenly as the flatness of his tongue pressed hard against her nub. Rick joggled his head like an attack dog with a distinctly canine rumble in his throat. "I was ready..." she tried again, "I was ready for you, daddy."

He slipped his tongue past the pink walls of her vagina and tasted the truth of her readiness. She tasted better than anything she pulled out of the oven last night and he made that clear with an appreciative moan of his own, the vibration of that sound serving to coat his tongue with even more of her honey.

"I don't..." she squealed through an exhale that told Rick where she was on the road to release. She finally blurted before he rendered her speechless, "I don't want to make you late. It's a big day for you and..."

"And I'm starting it off right." He spoke into her clitoris like an informant wearing a wire, never breaking the beating rhythm of his tongue. "They'll wait."

He worked in two fingers, turning the southern soiree into a riot. The tips of his fingers wiggled recklessly and a few seconds later he felt the pulsating squeeze of her orgasm as she screamed his name and creamed his tongue. Michonne's legs went limp and her peripheral blurred as the corners of her mouth crooked into a lazy smile anticipating what she knew was next.

Rick pulled her leaden legs at the back of her knees and rocked himself into her noisy, wet center. He never stopped being amazed at how it always seemed like he wouldn't fit, but then her body would give way and his length would fit snugly like a blade in butter.

Michonne watched him drop his head back, biting his bottom lip with contentment.

"Everythang waits for this pussy." he said looking drugged and desperate as he pulled her to him and started his winding signature stroke. Her throaty wheezing breaths in his ear gave him goosebumps. "I ain't got nothin' to do 'til I'm done doin' this." He emphasized his point bottoming out headlong so deep inside her the world turned to water colored spots.

* * *

Michonne's assistant was still out of town for the holidays. She wouldn't be back until after the new year. But Michonne interrupted her vacation when the stick she peed on said pregnant. Deanna was the closest thing to a mother she had and she didn't mind pestering her for a mentor's advice, that she infrequently followed, and maternal approval that she constantly craved.

Michonne called her with the news as soon as Rick left for work.

But it was hard to get him out of the apartment after they'd made love. He didn't want to go to work. He had to, though.

Over the long weekend, Dixon/Grimes Security was moving their office from its suburban storefront location to more upscale urban quarters. More space was needed with the addition of Tara's crew. The goal was to be fully operational by Monday and impress Michonne on her first trip to the company's new digs.

Rick also needed a place with a helipad, because a helicopter was his next big purchase.

An idea he got from A.J., of all people, during a Schwarzenegger marathon. When the big action hero and his squad came on screen smoking stogies and spitting one-liners, the little man pointed and said, "That's what you need Unk... you and the crew need to be landing on fools in a chopper."

Out of the mouths of babes.

After some research, he got Carol to crunch the numbers and she agreed travel time and costs overall could be reduced. Of course, Tara had a commercial license to fly just about anything. And Rick had to meet her to assess a few options.

Michonne was excited for all his business ventures and knew that, with his Midas touch and the team he'd put together, he'd be successful. The same was true of his family life. Their squad was growing and Michonne was so excited to do it all with Rick.

Deanna was excited to be the first to know that Michonne was going to be a mommy.

"You know, I thought you were!" Deanna admitted, after a good many elated shrills. "I thought, either she's pregnant or she's smoking reefer cigarettes."

Michonne giggled at Deanna's outdated term. "Why?"

"You've been eating everything in sight and that day you had that meltdown at McDonald's..."

"What day?" Michonne didn't recall.

"Mimi, honey, the day you went bat-shit at McDonalds and then broke down in tears?"

Michonne's memory of that day was blurry. But it slowly came back to her with Deanna's description.

As the recollection came trickling back to her consciousness, she began to feel a shriveling discountenance at her behavior. It was like an out of body experience… where she also went out of her mind.

She and Deanna had been out shopping for Sasha's baby shower, which was still more than a month away, when she had an animalistic urge to dip a large fry, fresh out of the grease, into a thick vanilla milkshake.

She zipped into the caravan of cars at the next McDonald's she saw. The line was too long, delaying her highly anticipated third chow down of the day. She pulled herself out of Black Panther's driver seat and pressed her passenger to come along.

She demanded Deana get something as well, but since they had already stopped at a pretzel shop in the mall and a food truck at a community yard sale, her cooperative friend only agreed to an apple pie… which Michonne decided she also wanted.

Once the order was placed, the tiny teenaged cashier informed Michonne, with a breezy manner that the milkshake machine was broken.

"I'm sorry?" Michonne asked, not quite ready to flip out, in case she'd misheard. When the disappointing blow was repeated, she asked for a manager.

"How can I help you, ma'am?" An older white woman asked her with pep.

"I am trying not to lose it here..." Michonne began with a lowered voice. Her hands, palm to palm, in a familiar personal summons of serenity. "I really need a milkshake to go with my fries."

"I am so sorry ma'am. Our machine is not working, but..."

"I know, that's what she just told me." Michonne nodded to the cashier. "But I really don't want to accept that. How many times have you tried it?"

The manager looked flabbergasted. She opened her mouth to answer but Deanna tried to intervene, "Michonne, there's another McDonald's a few blocks over..."

"So I'm supposed to run all over the city for a milkshake? We're not doing that, Roe. I'm asking a very simple question." She turned back to the manager. "I just need you to make sure. Please. I worked at McDonald's for a year when I was in high school," she explained, "sometimes it's just ice cream gunk clogging the release!"

"No ma'am it's not the release. But we have a new machine on the way. Unfortunately, it won't be here until tomorrow."

"Well, what the fuck!" Michonne blazed sounding more like Sasha than herself.

"Mimi!" Deanna tried to quell her temper.

"Sorry, Roe. But this shit is unacceptable!"

"Ma'am, I have to asked you to watch your language. This is a family restaurant." The manager directed her.

Michonne looked around. She didn't see any kids in the dining room. "We're all grown up in here. So, let's not play games. The menu says y'all have shakes on deck!" She clapped through the final three words of her exclamation. "I can't eat these fries without a shake! This is madness! What am I supposed to do?"

"Well you could go to another McDonald's like your friend suggested." The manager kindly replied, trying not to lose her patience. "Believe me ma'am, if I had a shake to give you I would."

"Let me just go back there and..." Michonne tried to cross the counter to the kitchen area, when the manager stopped her."

"Ma'am, I can't have you back there."

"Why not? I told you I used to work at McDonald's! It was my first job!"

"Ma'am if you don't leave. I'm going to call the police."

"The police?" Michonne jerked back, shocked. "Maybe you haven't heard, but black lives matter! First thing people want to do is call the cops and kill us!"

"What?" The manager became nervous at the controversial statement. "Ma'am, that's not it at all!"

"Go ahead. Call the cops." Michonne dared her. "I'm not scared of the cops. I will call my boyfriend! If _he_ comes down here, it's a wrap!" She rifled through her bag for her phone with every intention of calling down the thunder of Rick Grimes on everyone in there wearing a red polo.

"Michonne! What's wrong with you?" Deanna puzzled.

Michonne's eyes exploded in a fountain of tears. "I just want a shake with my fries, Roe! Why is that so hard?" she sobbed into Deanna's shoulder. "I used to work at McDonald's! I got employee of the month three times!"

"Well, let's go, love." The older woman soothed her hysterical friend turning her toward the door, while making apologetic eyes at the manager. "We'll go and get a milkshake for you, I promise."

Before they left the snickering patrons, Michonne begged a hug from the ticked off manager and gave the young cashier a few inspirational words on how to become employee of the month.

Now, as Deanna laughed through the retelling of the entire scene, Michonne also remember that was the day before the whole fiasco at Duncan's between her and Rick.

She communicated telepathically to the unseen gift growing in her womb, _Were you driving mommy crazy already, you little stinker?_ Michonne felt like things were making sense. The way she had flipped out on Rick that night in front of Mike felt as foreign to her as the whole McDonald's incident Deanna was describing.

It wasn't just her stubbornness that got her in trouble that night, although that was a factor. Rick was in the middle of a hormonal hailstorm and neither of them knew it.

Still, maybe she should thank the little seed snuggled up in her womb. The lesson she learned over the next few weeks made her relationship with Rick as strong as it was today.

And despite her inebriated concession, she got the distinct feeling that she would have never made that call without her emotions for Rick getting the better of her. Maybe their baby had, inadvertently, helped her grow up, just like she was eager to do for him or her.

It hadn't even been 24 hours yet since she realized this little one was coming, but they had a bond. It was something she couldn't explain. _That's what miracles are._ she thought as her friend's voice broke through her reflective haze,

"I know Rick was ecstatic!" Deanna imagined.

"Well, I haven't told him yet. I want to see a doctor and make sure everything is okay, first."

Deanna chuckled at the careful approach to everything new mothers invariably take. "Who's you're O.B.?"

"Well, I was hoping you could suggest someone. I don't want the doctor Sasha had. It's like Sasha was her own doctor. She was running the show in the delivery room." Deanna chuckled, imagining Sasha marching through a maternity ward with a bullhorn to the beat of a military drum. "I need someone to walk me through the process. Answer all these questions I have." Michonne shook her head with certainty, "I'm not on Sasha's "mom-level" yet."

"Let me see." Deanna thought hard. It had been a long time since she needed this kind of doctor. "The doctor that delivered my babies is retired but he was good... and you can't fly all the way here to see the doctor that delivered my grand-kids. Oh!" she recalled, "There's an obstetrician at my church! Oh, you would love her, Michonne! Dr. Malcolm. I have her number."

"Thanks, Roe. I knew you'd steer me in the right direction. And please, please, please don't say anything to Rick. I want the way he finds out to be special."

"Sweetie, my lips are sealed."


	23. Chapter 23

**_A/N: The time line for these two chapters starts Thanksgiving weekend and follow Michonne, Rick and Carl through to the following weekend. They include many flash backs and memories. I wanted the time line to jump back and forth a little as my favorite movies do especially when there is a secret to uncover. I tried to make it as easy to follow as I could and made sure to indicate WHEN things are happening. Hopefully, I succeeded. If not, keep in mind this is amateur writing (I love you guys and don't mind helpful suggestions!)_**

* * *

Every morning, Rick follows the same routine. The very first thing he does when he begins to stir is reach for Michonne and pull her close. He'd inhale her scent deeply and touch every part of her that he could reach, like a man in the dark reaching out for the light. _This will be my husband,_ she thought as she stretched. _I will be his wife_. She couldn't wait to own him in every way.

Then, before he even leaves the bed, he checks his email, texts and bank accounts. Running a business was hard work. He had people to provide for. Not just his family but his employees too and their families. Every move he made was for the sake of them all. Not his ego. He took it seriously. _This baby is blessed_ , she thought as she looked at him. _This is the father of my child._

He always let her sleep a little longer while he smartened up first in the bathroom. But when it was time to get up, he made her. With a decisive tone, he'd call her name, open the blinds and blast the news. He said being late now and then was unavoidable, but a reputation for lateness was unacceptable. _This is my better half._

And yes, he was the same man that believes with all his heart, "Everything waits for this pussy." Michonne acknowledged the contradiction, but considered, _He would stop the whole world for me because Rick is a man that has his head on and his priorities straight._

She almost wished this could go on forever: regular days spent appreciating him in this current state of humdrum bliss. Just normal Rick Grimes giving evidence as to why he deserved all the good life could possibly give him- before he finds out he's getting even more.

But even with all the love on her brain and the poignant sentimentality she could derive-

Nothing made her happier than driving him up a wall with her games. And nothing excited Rick more than being smack dab in the middle of Michonne's stunts and hocus-pocus. And his gregarious girlfriend had a few tricks up her sleeve for him this week.

It started at the restaurant on their first date, these little games of one-upmanship. And since it was his job to know things, his girl was having a lot of fun at his expense showing up his lack of observation that she had been carrying his child for weeks.

Michonne was always eccentric this way. He never knew what to expect from her. He could stay one step ahead of Carl but Michonne was on another level. She was on a level where it took all his mental wherewithal to find a vague clue about her plots and schemes.

It took him back to his college days with Daryl. His criminal justice courses involved outsmarting professors in dissertations. Daryl hated that part of school. He just wanted to shoot shit, but not Rick. He appreciated the thrill of the chase.

He liked being kept on his toes and he was willing to work for extra credit to pass whatever lesson Michonne was teaching now.

To be fair, Rick had never really been around a pregnant woman. He and Lori lived like strangers the entire time she carried Carl. Rick wouldn't have known _what_ to expect or even to _suspect_ anything.

Maybe Rick could have found out like Carl did, if it wasn't for his strong distaste for social media.

Instagram snitched and told Carl she was pregnant.

He was at his mother's house all weekend, bored and still bitter about missing Thanksgiving for her impulsive vengeance. He was scrolling his phone anticipating the chronicles Michonne would surely post of all the fun they had.

When he saw her recent activity, he noticed that she'd started following pregnantwithstyle. He thought nothing of it. She was obsessed with fashion, and like his dad, he didn't see the big deal. But by Saturday he saw that she was following more than 10 pregnancy/baby accounts and by Sunday it was more than 20.

That was odd, he decided.

Monday morning,on the bus headed to school, he texted her.

 **Carl ::I'm staying with you guys this weekend. IDGAF::**

 **Michonne ::#1 Be nice::**

 **::#2 That bad huh?::**

 **Carl ::Worse::**

 **::Anyway. What's up with all this baby bump stuff on IG?::**

He didn't expect an answer of any interest. He just liked to know what Michonne had going on so he wouldn't miss anything.

Sitting behind her desk at work, she was bowled over by the abrupt change to baby talk, nearly doing a spit take with her morning O.J. She kicked herself for forgetting that he followed her. It was easy to do. He never interacted with her online. He just lurked.

Now she thought seriously about the fact that anyone, who was so inclined, could stalk her through any of her accounts. You could see everything she did: what she liked and what or who she followed.

It was the main reason Rick hated these kinds of communal platforms. Somehow, even though Carl was the one uncovering her secrets this way, she still rolled her eyes imagining Rick and his oft-repeated doomsday warning that so much access to her private life would be her undoing one day. She shot back at Carl,

 **Michonne ::Please explain why you still feel the need to stalk me on social media like we're not A 1's::**

 **::Shouldn't a 14 y.o. boy be watching porn instead of worrying about what I'm doing?::**

 **Carl ::Just answer the question Claire::**

He referenced The Breakfast Club. A movie that he'd watched for the first time with his pop-cultured mom, who proclaimed it a classic. It was what they did together: make random connections of everything. From the smallest minutiae of a meme to the time-honored staples of young adulthood from the 80's on. And now they had a million inside jokes like their own private language.

She sent him a gif of Darth Vader and a text that read,

 **Michonne ::Luke, you are NOT my father::**

 **Carl ::Ok::** He sent her a thumbs up and then,

 **::I'll just ask dad::**

 **Michonne ::shit::**

 **:: Well played. The force is strong with you::**

 **::DO NOT ASK YOUR DAD::**

 **Carl ::Are you pregnant? LOL::**

 **Michonne ::I'll pick you up from school. We'll talk::**

 **Carl ::Omg YOU ARE?!::**

 **Michonne ::We'll talk::**

She went to his school and waited in her car for him to come out with the last bell. The thrill of sharing this news with him made her restless enough to stand out in the cold in her itty bitty skirt and stilettos, closer to the exit and closer to seeing that face that the one forming inside her would no doubt resemble. She tried to maintain a straight face but as soon as she saw him emerge from a crowd of kids heading toward the line of yellow buses, her lips split into a smile. Carl smiled wide in return as he caught sight of her, too.

They chuckled together once they stood face to face. Michonne felt the tears in her eyes as she pulled her faux fur coat collar snugly around her neck to stave off the winter chill. Carl nervously adjusted his book bag on his back, holding tight the straps on his shoulders.

Neither said a word as the big noisy teenagers walked and ran by them. The silence between them could have been misinterpreted as a step-mom and a step-son fumbling to build a relationship after only months of interaction. But it was actually a "white son" and his cherished _chosen_ mother doing what biological mothers and sons sometimes find difficult to do these days: communicating.

They stood communicating without words. Until Carl rushed her with a hug and Michonne's eyes poured like tipped pitchers.

"When're you gonna pop?" his voice cracked the impatient question with excitement over her shoulder, still hugging her tight.

"I don't know." she giggled with delight. "I haven't seen a doctor, yet." She let him go and they both pushed their long hair out of their faces and started toward her car. "I have an appointment next week. I just bought a test from the store and" she did her best model walk the last few paces to her car, "it said I'm gonna need a whole new wardrobe."

Rick's Monday started off normal enough. Until he got the very first odd picture that showed up with her call. It was not a picture of her smiling above her prominently displayed cleavage. It was not a length-wise shot of her over-the-shoulder 'come hither' face in a pair of those little shorts that made his hands itch.

It was an old depression-era mug shot. Rick was at a loss. He sent the picture to Carl first but his son was clueless. He tried Carol and Daryl when he got to work. Carol shrugged, but Rick's right hand man came through,

Daryl glanced at Rick's phone. "That's Lester Gillis." he said with confidence, still focused on his computer screen as he typed up an email. He gave the phone back to his unaffected, graying business partner but when he finally looked at Rick again, he could see Lester Gillis was not registering with him.

Most people would not have been familiar with the name Lester Gillis. Rick, however, should have known the face as quickly as Daryl did. But Rick's memory was never as good as Daryl's.

"A.K.A. George Nelson?" Daryl prompted his best friend disappointingly. He just looked at Rick irritatingly dumbfounded until he saw a twinkling of recognition in his eyes.

"Oh, Yeah. Baby Face Nelson!" Of course, Rick should have remembered.

Obviously, Michonne had remembered his childhood fixation on America's notorious bad guys and the G-men that brought them to their end. John Dillinger, Bonnie and Clyde, Al Capone...

As boys, he and Daryl would read the sensationalized history of crime and think of ways the cops could have caught the crooks sooner or ways the crooks could have lived forever.

Rick stared at the picture with amused curiosity. "She changed her contact picture to Baby Face Nelson?" Rick asked himself, aloud.

"Michonne did?" Daryl clarified frowning in confusion under his brown mop.

"Who else?" Rick grinned at his woman's antics.

"It's accurate, I guess." Daryl laughed at what he presumed the significance could be. "Never seen ya fall for a girl so fast. She stole ya heart. Like she had a gun to ya head."

Rick took slight offense at his boy's implications that he was whipped with a cherry on top. Walking away with bravado to save face, he suggested through innuendo and a raised brow, "Ask Michonne who had the _gun_."

So, quick to defend his manhood, he completely missed the key to the black and white image: The **Baby** in Baby Face Nelson.

Tuesday, he went to call her and noticed her picture was different again.

This time Michonne seemed to be a white woman with wavy brunette hair and close-set brown eyes. Rick was proud of himself that he didn't need any help to decipher the meaning of this one. He knew the actress on his phone screen.

The picture immediately brought up a memory of a movie night months ago, during their six-month exercise in self-control.

Rick ordered Chinese. Michonne picked the movie. After a day of stifling heat, they cuddled up on his couch under a blanket and the welcoming blast of the air conditioning to watch Dirty Dancing.

Rick fell asleep.

She thought it would be funny to wake him up to a little dirty dancing solo of her own.

"Riiiiiiiiick?" her sing-songy tone buzzed against his ear, with her tongue skirting the edge of his lobe. He raised a brow and opened one eye. "I caught you sleeping." Apologizing, he admitted defeat and blamed a long day at work in the heat of an outdoor event. But Michonne suggested, "Maybe the dancing in the movie wasn't dirty enough for you."

She moved away from his side and almost immediately he reached for her hips to pull her back. But she didn't go far. Grabbing her phone from his coffee table, she began to scroll her music for the right tune to tease him to. She found what she wanted and, as Rick stretched through a yawn, she moved all the litter from their dinner to the end table beside her.

"Leave that stuff, baby. I'll get it." He petitioned, watching her ass, stuffed into those jeans, rock and roll on the edge of the couch while she tidied the space. "Come back here." He begged her, lazily slipping his hand down her hip as she stood up.

Michonne sat in front of him on his empty coffee table with her legs crossed and tossed him her phone. "Press play." she instructed him, throwing her chin with seductive, hooded eyes.

He stared back at her with the full knowledge that she was about to do something that would wrap him even tighter around her finger. That seemed to be all she knew how to do and her methods were always ingenious.

He dropped his eyes only for a second to touch the white triangle on her screen and the breathy echoing vocals of Sex Therapy by Robin Thicke drifted through the space between them.

 _Whoa_

 _Whoa_

 _Whoa_

Michonne ran her hands gently up her torso, over the thin fabric of her see-thru top, to her breasts. She squeezed her delicate twin globes as she rolled her head back from shoulder to shoulder and Rick looked on with his bottom lip tucked under his tongue.

 _Stressed out, uptight_  
 _Over worked, wound up_  
 _Unleash what you got_  
 _Let's explore your naughty side_

She slowly opened her legs, spread eagle, before him on the balls of her bare feet. Michonne could watch Rick salivate over her for hours but most of the time it backfired. The way he stared her down with those commanding blues, turned her on to the point that her mouth watered for just a taste of his plump pink lips.

She closed her eyes to save herself from his magnetic gaze as her palms made the trip back down her body. One going left and one going right over the thick layout of her thighs. As soon as she reached her knees she dragged the French tips of her nails lightly back to the crux of her thighs.

She could make herself blind to his impressive mannish features but she couldn't dull her sense of smell. His stimulating woodsy wintry scent was baked into his tanned skin by the day's extreme heat. Her fingers rubbed at her sex through her zippered fly where the evidence of her weakness for Rick's ambrosial scent had been leaking since she got to his house.

Rick shifted in his seat, adjusting himself as his dick swelled steadily. He could no longer watch silently. "Michonne..."

She raised her other hand and put a finger to her lips, shushing his shaky protest. She opened her mouth and licked up her index finger in the most deliberately erotic manner, until she trapped the digit between her pouted lips. Easing her head back and forth, her moist plum-colored, pillowy lips glided up and down the length of her finger.

 _It's your body_  
 _You can yell if you want to_  
 _Loud if you want to_

 _Scream if you want to_

Rick's voice came out raspy over the hook of the song. "S'all fun and games 'til somebody gets fucked."

The urgent mood falling off his tongue made his private dancer break character for a giggle. But she quickly regained composure. Throwing her head between her knees, her hair tumbled like a waterfall between her legs. She snapped back up, reclining across the width of the table, exposing her belly like a buffet of liquid dark chocolate.

 _It's your body_  
 _We'll go hard if you want to_  
 _As hard as you want to_  
 _Soft as you want to_

Rick wanted so badly to lay his body on top of hers. Maybe _wanted_ isn't the right word. Maybe _badly_ isn't either. But either way, he was halfway through a prayer for tonight to be _the night_ when he switched to a prayer asking for a million more nights like this one. Sex or no sex. She was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen.

He watched hypnotized as she dropped her foot in his lap on an outstretched leg. She could feel him, on the sole of her foot- stiff as a cadaver- through his jeans. She wiggled her toes across the soft bulge of his balls underneath and Rick pushed back in his couch cushions running away from her torturous toes.

 _Just let me love you lay right here_  
 _I'll be your fantasy_  
 _Give you sex therapy_

 _Give you sex therapy_

Rick was never a foot man. But he was, without a doubt, a Michonne man. He worshiped the ground she walked on and now, he kissed the foot she walked on... and the toes... and the ankle and the...

She snatched her foot away before she got sidetracked. Turning her back to him, she sat on her heels and leaned forward over her knees, presenting to his feasting eyes her raised rounded bottom to bounce to the rhythm of the song's lazy high-hat.

Rick flexed his fingers. He made a fist. He cracked his knuckles with his thumb like he did whenever he was trying to maintain, but Michonne was too perfect. He had to touch her. He meant to _touch_ her. Instead the beast inside him took over and sent his palm stinging with a crack over the cheek of her ass.

Michonne tossed her hair, pulling her locs to the side to look back at him. She bit her bottom lip and smiled at the pain.

Finally worked up to the point of frenzy, Rick pulled her backwards into his lap with an arm around her waist. Michonne yipped in surprise, but in no way resisted settling her ass against all that dick she had just waiting for her to say when.

She wouldn't say it. Not yet. _God_. She wanted to. But not yet.

She couldn't say it. Not now. Not with Rick's hand down the front of her pants and his other hand crushed hungrily against her breast. She couldn't say it, not with Rick in her ear promising to himself that he'd fuck her blind... and soon. She couldn't speak a proper word to save her life.

"I really don't like Maggie..." he joked gruffly with a serious inflection as she rubbed herself against his throbbing erection and he operated that switch between her legs. "Or Andrea." Michonne moaned and giggled on the same pleasured breath as he bit her shoulder like she was actual food, then laved up her pulse back to her ear. "Your friends are dumb and waitin' sucks."

That memory was vivid enough to set his dick to stone behind his desk. And based on his recollection, Rick assumed that the picture of Jennifer Grey meant he was in for the continuation to that night when he got home. He texted Michonne at work,

 **Rick ::Feels good to be the luckiest man in the world.::**

 **Michonne ::What makes you so lucky?::**

 **Rick ::YOU::**

 **Rick ::My little dirty dancer::**

 **Rick ::Can't wait for the show::**

Michonne rolled her eyes with a giggle as she understood his meaning. _I guess I'm performing tonight_ , she thought as she set about finding a track sexy enough for another round of her sultry dance routines. _He'd better enjoy this now. Soon I'll be too big for these Beyonce' moves._

And it tickled her to no end that Rick still missed the point of the picture. Jennifer Grey, played the leading lady in Dirty Dancing. Her character's name was Frances " **Baby** "Houseman.

After his exclusive burlesque show to the beat of 'Party Monster' by The Weekend, Rick decided, these peculiar security breaches to his mobile device were working in his favor. He was 100% on board with... whatever this was. He didn't know why they were playing this game. He didn't even know what the game was, but by Wednesday, he was checking his phone for any developments every few minutes.

When she stopped by his office to have lunch with him that day, he made sure to leave his phone unattended frequently, wanting to give her the time and opportunity to change her contact picture again. He excused himself a couple of times while they ate at his desk admiring the city view from his new office space.

He would go stand out in the lobby talking to his young intern, Ben, who was covering the front desk. Watching Michonne through the glass walls of his office as she ate and took a few selfies, Rick tried to will her telepathically to pick up his phone. But she never did.

At least he never saw her.

Still, as soon as he kissed her goodbye, put her on the elevator and went back to his office, his phone buzzed on his desk. A new picture flashed. It was the only photo that still stumped him by the end of the week. As he sat trying to figure out what Michonne was up to, Rick started to wonder if there were other games afoot because Michonne didn't stop at pictures.

She was sending him weird texts referring to the baby he knew nothing about in misleading ways. When she realized she'd have a baby bump and their little biscuit would be an uninvited "guest" on their honeymoon, she texted him,

 **Michonne :: Hey, What do you think about a honeymoon threesome?::**

 **Rick ::no thanks::**

 **Michonne ::I think you'll like it::**

 **::Guy or Girl? Do you have a preference?::**

 **Rick ::WTF?!::** (He learned that from Rosita.)

 **Michonne ::Just think about it...::**

 **:: You might change your mind::**

By Thursday, Rick was four days into this head trip Michonne was orchestrating. She had changed her contact picture in his phone, yet again. He didn't know when she'd had the chance to do it. But by now, he'd stopped trying to figure out her wily ways. He just wanted an explanation to this bizarre picture.

It was a disturbing picture that nearly startled him when he looked at his buzzing phone in the middle of an afternoon staff meeting. Michonne wasn't calling for any reason in particular. Rick knew she just wanted to bait him into seeing another prank photo. He had resorted to begging for a hint to help him guess the point of these random internet screenshots. She wouldn't cooperate, though. All she ever gave him was hearty laughter when he asked what she was up to.

He passed the phone around the conference table asking his team if they recognized the tattooed man in the picture. Tara said she recognized the rapper but couldn't remember his name. So now he was on the phone with Carl, again, trying to enlist the help of Michonne's primary abettor. Unfortunately for Rick, Carl happened to be under strict orders from their girl not to utter the word **baby** to his dad under any circumstances.

"So, do you know who it is?" Rick urgently asked Carl regarding the picture he had just sent his son.

Carl looked at his phone and snickered, "Ummm..." Carl held back laughter, inwardly praising Michonne for her ability to make his dad joyfully insane, "Yeah, dad. He's a rapper. He goes by Birdman."

"Birdman? Sounds like a superhero."

"He's not."

"Okay. Well... what's one of his songs? I never heard her talk about him."

"Me either. I don't think she really listens to his music. He's not... really known... for his lyrical content."

"Then what's he known for?"

"Well..." Carl wasn't sure that could be explained with any relevance, he pivoted, "Dad, maybe Michonne has, like, a running theme here... she's like an evil genius leaving clues. Maybe all those pictures are connected." He prodded his father to think outside the box.

"I don't see how." Rick swiped through the screenshots of her recent contact photo edits.

Rick took Carl's suggestion that the pictures be taken as a whole and tried again to piece it all together.

"She's a criminal that steals my heart." He said swiping past Baby Face Nelson. "And this is..." he cleared his throat at the picture of Jennifer Grey, not wanting to go into too much detail about that night with Carl, "about dancin'." he said ambiguously.

Carl sat in his mom's kitchen with an after-school snack and his big three-ring binder open to his homework. "What about dancing?" Carl was curious.

"Just dancin'... nothin'." Rick quickly went to the next picture. "You said this guy's a rapper, but I still don't know who this other lady is..." Rick said looking at the round face of the pale blonde with two high ponytails.

"Yeah. I don't know her dad."

"Know who?" Lori asked walking into the kitchen with a glass of red wine. Carl rolled his eyes and answered her, "No one." He started packing up his things to head to his room. Still pissed since last Thursday, he'd been trying to keep his interactions with his mom to a minimum.

Lori snuck a peek at his phone over his shoulder, "Hmm." she hummed a chuckle. "I know who that is."

"You do?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Dad, mom says she knows the blonde." He said excitedly and turned to Lori, "So, who is it?"

"Oh, so now you want my help?" Lori milked her advantage as always.

Carl let out that familiar sigh, "Never mind, we'll figure it out." He relieved her of her duty and went back to vacating the kitchen.

Desperate to be a part of something in his life she cut the crap, "Okay. Okay. That's Baby Spice from the Spice Girls. I had a cousin who was obsessed with them. She dragged me to their concert once." His mom started pulling ingredients from the cabinets. "...Wasn't that bad of a show. What's this for?"

Unable to say the word baby, Carl told his dad, "Mom says she's a Spice Girl."

"Spice Girl?" Rick repeated staring at the picture.

"Baby Spice!" Lori shouted at Carl's phone for Rick's benefit. "I said what's this for, Carl?" She repeated and leaned back against the sink folding her arms swirling her vanishing cabernet. She smiled enthusiastically, feeling included for the first time in a long time.

Carl was not impressed. "It's a game we're playing with _Michonne_. You wouldn't get it." He said rubbing her face in it and immediately Lori's smile faded.

"Well, I got Baby Spice, didn't I?" she said defensively. "What kind of game is this?"

Carl decided to tell his mom. To show her how cool Michonne was and how she would never be able to outsmart her with her stupid tricks. "Michonne is sending a secret message with these pictures and Dad can't figure it out."

"Carl..." Rick tried to reign in his son, not wanting Lori to know too much. He didn't want her to have the means to ruin anything else related to Michonne. "Don't worry your mother with silly games. We'll talk later. I'll be at the community center tonight."

"But it's Thursday..." Carl said, reminding his dad that Wednesdays were his night at the community center.

"I'm filling in for Daryl. You still coming over this weekend, right?"

"I'll be there." Carl cut his eyes at his mother, defiantly.

"Ok. I'll pick you up from school. Love you, son. See you tomorrow." Rick rushed off the phone to keep Lori at a distance.

"Show me these pictures. Let's see..." Lori offered and came to stand beside Carl with a hand on his shoulder. "How hard could it be?"

Carl rolled his shoulder reflexively at her touch, but then he flashed Lori the same disingenuous smile she gave Michonne when she brought him home Monday.

Carl hoped she would figure it out. He hoped the truth of _their_ family, _his_ family, hit her like a dart right between her eyes. He hoped she saw that no matter what she did now, Michonne was there for good. He wanted her to see his father's reaction to Michonne's pregnancy because he wanted her to know how much his dad loved Michonne and how much he loved Michonne. Because Michonne was the best.

He wanted his mom to taste that and swallow it down. He didn't like the way she talked to Michonne. He didn't like the way she talked about Michonne to his Aunt Leslie. Carl was ready to ruin her day, like she loved to ruin everyone else's.

He swiped through the pictures his dad had sent him. "Ok, mom. These are the clues. This is Baby Face Nelson. He was a notorious bank robber..."

"Yeah, I know who Baby Face Nelson is. Trust me I heard enough about old timey crooks from your dad when we were dating."

"Okay." Carl continued, "This is Jennifer Grey. Do you know her?"

"I do." She said proudly. "That's Ferris Bueller's sister... and she played Baby in a movie called Dirty Dancing." Lori recalled the film and incorrectly quoted the famous line from the movie to herself with a nostalgic giggle, "Nobody throws Baby in a corner."

"Dirty Dancing, huh?" Carl made a note of why his father probably answered so vaguely about the actress, then swiped again, "This is a rapper named Baby."

Lori scoffed, "He sure doesn't look like a baby. He..." She dropped her pleased demeanor, suddenly hearing the word that had been dominating this conversation: **Baby**. Her face fell sullen as Carl continued,

"And you said this is _Baby_ Spice?" Carl pushed the knife deeper when he saw the light bulb flash in her mind. "So did you guess what Michonne is trying to tell dad?"

Lori's mouth went dry and she staggered back to prop herself up against the fridge. Carl's voice echoed from above as she seemed to stand at the bottom of an abyss. _Michonne is pregnant. He's marrying her AND she's pregnant_.

Lori felt sick, like she was being unraveled.

She hadn't heard from Shane for a week. She texted and called him but he never replied. She wasn't really broken up about it. She was already moving on to Negan. But she didn't like that Shane had chosen Michonne over her and then fallen off the face of the earth. She wasn't used to that kind of treatment.

He was a felon and not nearly the caliber of man she usually dated. But when he came to help her with her car that night, she had to admit that he was attractive- in an uncommon sort of way. He was funny and sweet but still rough around the edges. He reminded her of Rick with that southern charm and chivalry.

Then Lori walked into that baby shower and suddenly being with Shane became about being better than Michonne, a woman she knew nothing about before that day. All Lori knew was that every man in her life was somehow anchored to Michonne. Lori felt threatened and started a fight that now, she could see, she'd lost three times over.

 _If I hear one more thing about this bitch I'll scream._ Lori's thoughts darkened and she held back angry tears.

"Mom?" Carl called her attention back to the game even as her face went pale. "I said did you guess?"

"Uhhh, N- n- no." she stuttered. "I really don't have time for this. I gotta get dinner started." She said turning to open the fridge, absentmindedly. Hiding behind the refrigerator door, she spoke to Carl with a struggling chipper tone, wiping her jealous tears from her face, "What do you have a taste for? Your choice."

"How 'bout some spaghetti?"

* * *

 **A/N: I gotta say a public thank you to Tigerwalk and Nwfanmega. I was feeling overwhelmed and could not unjumble my brain to finish these two chapters. I changed them so much it's not even funny. And these two ladies sent me some serious encouragement to pick myself up and dust myself off. Not saying that these chapters are my best work but I stopped second-guessing myself enough to post. So Thanks to all my reviewers, especially the benevolent. It means so much to the writers. **

**So if you have a favorite writer you want to see more of or story that you want updated, remember follows and favorites are nice but kind words can really boost productivity! ;)**


	24. Chapter 24

"Then he asked Drea, 'Wut time yer legs open, darlin'?" Michonne wheezed, hysterical, from the kitchen through the tears in her eyes. Carl was red from laughter at Michonne's impersonation of Merle and his pathetic pick-up lines.

Rick protested with a straight face, "I kinda resent that your Merle Dixon impression sounds a lot like your Rick Grimes impression."

Michonne waltzed back to the dining room table holding a dish of glazed carrots. "Well ain't y'all boys from 'round the same parts of 'Over Yonder-ville'?" She exaggerated the country accent even more, dropping a kiss to his puckered lips through his artificial frown and took a seat at the table with her family.

"Don't remind me." Rick moaned, remembering what an expert asshole his best friends brother had always been, even when they were kids. "It's bad enough I gotta work with' um. Let's not bring him to our dinner table. Thanksgivin' was enough."

 _I'll tell you later_ , Michonne mouthed to Carl.

"Anyway," Rick started to grin. "I was gonna wait 'til after dinner." he said pulling a beautifully wrapped box from his back. "But... well... I couldn't."

Michonne raised a surprised brow and cocked her head in confusion. "What's this?" She asked them both and Carl shrugged with an oblivious face. Michonne turned the gift, wrapped in white and gold, over in her hands. "Christmas is still a month away."

The trio enjoyed a formal family dinner to make up for Carl's absence at Thanksgiving, last week. Each of them was as happy as the next to be together for the next few days. She and Carl were determined to help Rick discover news about her pregnancy, tonight.

Rick suggested that they spend the weekend Christmas shopping, movie watching and visiting the family that Carl didn't get to see last week, so that was the plan. With knowledge that there'd be a new baby in his immediate family, Carl was especially anxious to finally go see Annabelle and get some pointers from Abe Jr. about big brother-ing. He thought his newborn cousin would be the most exciting thing he'd see this weekend, until his dad presented this unknown gift.

"What'd you get her, dad?"

"It's not just for her. It's for all of us." Rick said watching her pecan-colored eyes question him silently. He instructed her with a nod of his head. "Open it 'Chonne."

She slipped her silver-painted, almond shaped nail under the taped fold and peeled off the decorative paper.

Her face immediately fell and she looked at Carl with an accusing eye.

The long-haired teenager held both hands up in innocence.

She looked to Rick and reapplied her smile, but her brow remained knit. Rick reached out to tenderly sweep the apple of her cheek with his thumb. Then he leaned back proudly in his seat with a cocky bearing.

"I think you are." he said as Michonne looked down at the pregnancy test in her hands. "No, I _know_ you are." His aqua eyes gleamed with confidence.

Carl sat there, his eyes ping-ponging back and forth between Michonne and his dad. "But," she said calmly, trying to catch what she had to be missing, " _how_ do you know?"

"Because it's my job to know things." her suddenly well-informed man said with a lordly air.

Carl and Michonne both spit with simultaneous laughter at Rick's famous declaration. It was, ironically, the perfect answer after he'd been so capitally ignorant all week with her baby clues. "No. Really." Michonne sucked in her amusement. "How do you know?"

At Sasha's baby shower Rick had a long talk with Abraham. The big guy was a mess, lamenting and extolling the bittersweet details of his wife's pregnancy.

Abraham was always a guy that shared too much information. Most of the time he was good for a laugh but sometimes, Rick felt like Sasha would scratch his eyes out if she ever knew the things he was privy to courtesy of her husband's loose lips. It made Rick even more wary of her, like he might slip up, say something he shouldn't know and bring her wrath down upon him.

That conversation at the shower was chock full of private details of their married life but Rick, for some reason, felt compelled to listen.

According to Abe, Sasha had to wear panty liners because she peed herself whenever she sneezed or laughed or shouted. He laughed until his face matched his hair at a story about how she didn't make it to the bathroom once and made a puddle on the porch. He laughed right up until he saw Sasha walk past their little huddle. Abe swallowed thickly then, and pretended Rick was saying something funny. That charade made Rick nervous but Sasha passed by, enjoying a piece of cake, without any aggression.

Her husband said the incontinence started when she was around seven months pregnant, but before that, her frequent trips to the restroom in her first trimester were always a dead giveaway that another baby was coming.

That was a little ding in the back of Rick's mind. He was noticing Michonne couldn't even make it through an hour-long TV show without a couple of trips to the bathroom, much to Carl's chagrin.

That, alone, was not very significant. But then Abraham went on to relate a few more features of life with a pregnant woman. None of them perked his ears until he started in with the information that was _more_ than too much.

"One good thing about her belly being bigger than mine is" Abraham slapped his tub, "she can't keep her hands offa Big Daddy. Your boy is getting laid like bed sheets. Something about pregnant women, man, they love the D. I'm fucking exhausted, Grimes."

Rick chuckled because he could relate to that.

Admittedly, he and Michonne were still in the phase of their relationship where sex was exciting and new. And maybe when it came to sex Michonne was just excessive like she was with everything else. Maybe nonstop sex was just what his life was now. He wouldn't complain. So, though that tidbit, made him wonder more intently, signs of pregnancy were still inconclusive.

"And her tits are prime." Abe continued, "But it's like some kinda cosmic joke- these big beautiful Maguffies that the dog in me just wants to treat like chew toys and she barely lets me touch 'em."

 _Easy._ Rick's mind instantly replayed Michonne's breathless reprimands of late. _Not so rough,_ she'd say when he groped her in the dark.

That was new. Rick was sure.

Michonne liked it rough and through the months of that bet, her breasts were part of his limited access to the blessings of her body. He thought he knew what she liked but now he had to be careful not to hurt her.

If he could be as crude as Abraham, he'd admit her breasts seemed bigger, more plump. She was so voluptuous, it made it harder for him to compose himself when they were bouncing in his face as she rode him to kingdom come.

Taken together, those three flags (her light-weight bladder, her knock-out libido and her delicate breasts) set his wheels turning.

He was mulling it over in his mind at the baby shower and then…

Shane came through the door... followed by his ex-wife, the harbinger of woe.

The fracas with Shane, damage control with Carl, not to mention the changes he was overseeing at work, pushed that budding thought into a corner of his mind.

That spot in his brain wasn't activated again until Thursday. The same day he and Carl were trying to connect the dots with Michonne's clues. He was subbing for Daryl at their self-defense class so his friend could take Carol out to some play she wanted to see. At the end of the session, he overheard a group of women talking.

One woman, who had just begun to show, according to her excited friends was explaining a recent development in her first trip down that nine-month road.

"I'm so sad." the woman said, "I can't eat salsa."

"Why not?" one of her friends asked on a gasp.

"My mom made a big bowl of it for me yesterday and the smell made me gag. It was so bad I had to flush it down the toilet so I wouldn't puke."

"What!" Another of her friends exclaimed taken aback. "Your mother's salsa is the best. How?"

"I don't know. But I asked Dr. James about it at my next appointment and she said sometimes it happens. Pregnancy heightens your sense of smell and the smell is strong enough to make you hate it."

"Even with foods you like?"

"Yeah. That's what Dr. James said."

"That sucks." her first friend sympathized. "But tell Aunt Marisol I'll eat your share of her salsa until you pop in February."

The conversation struck a chord with Rick, bringing the pregnancy question back to the forefront of his mind.

He remembered a couple of days ago, he had decided to stop by Duncan's to show gratitude for her risqué routine Tuesday night and bring home a box of peanut butter chocolate bombs. They were fresh and still warm by the time he got to the apartment. The smell of fried peanut butter dough drizzled with milk chocolate hung in the air all around him. Michonne gave him a greeting from up in the loft and came down to sexually harass him as usual.

But she stopped in her tracks, holding her nose. "Oh my god. Rick, what is that?"

"I got you your fav'rit."

"My favorite what?" she swallowed with difficulty through a frown. "I don't have a favorite anything that smells like that!" She was retreating up the steps to escape the scent when Rick opened the Styrofoam container to show her the bite sized desserts. "Oh my god!" she repeated with both hands cupping her mouth and nose. "Why do they smell like that?!"

Rick sniffed them. "They smell good... What?"

"You gotta take them out! Take them out or I'm gonna..." she gagged. "And open the balcony! Air it out in here!" she shouted in a panic as Rick scrambled to comply.

He took the food out on the balcony so the cold temperature would cool the pungent steam wafting from the container. He came back in and asked if she was okay. She was being so dramatic, he felt like it could be a prank. She said she was fine but Rick could see she literally looked sick to her stomach.

He approached her to check her out and she recoiled from his embrace. "Gross, Rick! The scent is all over you!"

He had to shower and change his clothes. While he was in the shower he tried to understand her reaction. It didn't make any sense. But he remembered, she had responded in a similar way one night at a new Thai food place she wanted to try. She had a 'Samuel L. Jackson moment', referring to the smell of the peanut laden dish as "some repugnant shit". They had to leave, but it was a place they'd never tried before. So, he didn't think it too odd.

But now with her beloved peanut butter chocolate bombs banished to the balcony, he was seriously puzzled.

Until weeks later, when the pregnant lady in his class seemed to be experiencing the same thing.

Friday morning when he got to work, he called Carol at home to get her opinion. Nine times out of ten, she was on point. He wasn't entirely sure that she'd ever had any kids but he'd much rather talk to her than his mom, or Sasha or Lori, obviously.

"Grimes." Her curt voice answered the phone. "Did you not get my text? I'll be in this afternoon."

"Yeah. I got your text. You can have the whole day off if you want. If anybody deserves time off it's you."

"This is true." she agreed smugly. "Well, if this call is not work related, I can't do the thing where I read your mind. So, spit it out."

Rick chuckled. "Yes, ma'am. Right away. You know anythang about signs that a woman is pregnant?"

Carol sighed through the phone, like he was the biggest bother of her life. "You think you knocked up Michonne?" she asked him in a deadpan tone and he heard Daryl exclaim "What!" in the background.

"Rick, this is the age of google." She said dryly. "There's no need to pester the person with the most gray hair for sage advice, especially not when she's the person who deserves time off more than anybody."

Rick scratched at his beard, ready to apologize.

"But..." Carol continued, "You are one of my favorite people and Michonne is a sweetheart. So, I'll tell you, every woman is different. Obviously, morning sickness is a thing. But not every woman has that... and it's not always in the morning. Mood swings could be a sign, but knowing Michonne's topsy-turvy personality that's like saying check a leopard for spots."

Rick laughed.

"So my gray-haired advice is this: Go buy a damn pregnancy test. Take said pregnancy test and then you'll know one way or the other. Now, say thanks Carol."

So now, a few hours later, Michonne was holding a pregnancy test and Rick was feeling very confident about the outcome.

"I just got this feeling. Now that thangs are settling down." He gave Michonne and Carl a self-satisfied smile. "I just feel like you are."

Michonne looked at Carl, then at Rick. "I am." She said giving him an incredulous look.

Rick stared at Michonne, like a deer in headlights. He seemed to short circuit for a moment.

"She is, dad."

He turned his gaze to Carl. "She is what?" He sat up straighter in anticipation, "Wait. What're you sayin'? She's pregnant?" He asked Carl, then eyed Michonne. 'Chonne, you're pregnant?"

"Yes! And I've been dropping hints all week!"

"Wait." Rick's head swiveled back and forth between the two sneaks and his drawl thickened. "That's what all'a them pictures were? Hints that you're pregnant?"

"Yes!" Michonne and Carl chorused vigorously.

"Baby Face Nelson! Baby Spice!" Carl finally felt free to lay it out for him.

Michonne leaned over the table excitedly and talked over her accomplice, " _Baby_ from Dirty Dancing!" She forked the carrots on his plate and brought them to his mouth, " _Baby_ carrots!" He chewed her edible clue and palmed his forehead in disappointment as she pointed to the other spoonfuls on his plate, "Sautéed _baby_ spinach, _baby_ red potatoes!

" _Baby_ back ribs!" Carl emphasized with laughter and gestured to his plate.

"And guess what's in the oven Rick..." Michonne settled back into her seat, regaining composure.

Rick turned to the stove where a sweet cinnamon aroma was emanating. They all answer together, "A bun!"

Rick's face was priceless and Carl and Michonne were in a fit over the baffled, embarrassed look he wore.

"You're always so extra, Michonne. And you've completely gone over to her side, huh?" Rick asked Carl and was met with a shrug.

"Well, watching you sweat for days was..." Carl couldn't find the words in his laughter.

"Very entertaining." Michonne suggested.

"Get over here." Rick pulled her from her seat and spun her to his lap.

"You're so cute when you're clueless."

The laughter died down and the reality of the lighthearted moment began to settle over everyone at the table.

As should be expected, Michonne went first into a crying spell. Nowadays, crying was her go-to response to most things. Fresh tears, the first of their kind, began to leak from her eyes and she pulled herself tight to Rick, burying her face in his neck. Those tears were original because they were born out of a feeling she hadn't experienced ever in her life.

It was a feeling that she had everything she wanted and it was all permanent. She was here, in this moment, not because these people happened to have room or because it was the only place available to her. It wasn't her making the best of a bad situation. It wasn't a stop on the road to another place. She was here in this moment because everyone she had chosen had chosen her as well.

She sniffled and heaved and Rick was overjoyed to let her as he rubbed her back facilitating her burst of emotions. He tucked his chin into the compact space between them, kissing her cheek and whispering his thanks and love. His voice muffled between them, Carl couldn't quite read the atmosphere.

"Michonne don't cry." he attempted to steer the table back to the happy laughter they'd been sharing, not recognizing her sobs were just another version of it.

But Rick nodded at his son with a soothing smile to let him know that she was fine and Michonne's cradled form extended a hand behind her to her stalker and sidekick. The younger Grime's blue eyes began to mist of their own accord.

Rick had prepared himself for waterworks from Michonne if the test was positive but he didn't expect it from his teenage son. The man did his job and knew the meaning of every whimper from the lady in his lap and the telling slant of his oldest child's brow. He knew that this was it for him: all the beating hearts at that table, seen and unseen. He wiped his own eye at a job well-done.

* * *

Rick took a spot beside Michonne by the fire. She was sitting with her legs curled to her side, leaning on the ottoman, resting her cheek on her folded arms. She was dozing as she considered the blue orange gas-made flames.

He had been in the spare room with Carl discussing Lori. His son was unapologetic in his hostility toward the woman who had raised him all his life and Rick struggled to understand why. She had always doted on Carl and cared for him, like any mother would do.

When Carl was about one he had a terrible ear infection and he screamed for hours this high-pitched wail that broke Lori's heart. Normally her sister would have come to help her out, but Leslie was sick herself and their mother was helping her care for her three children. Rick's mother lived too far away in another state. So, she just held him and wept right along with him, feeling his pain in her heart.

That was the night Rick first held his son.

He had climbed the stairs from the basement he'd made his domicile, to lay eyes on his estranged wife and alienated son. He didn't know what compelled him or what help he would offer. He was still vitriolic toward her and he'd promised himself that he would never pick Carl up, as that would be exactly what Lori wanted. And he couldn't let her win over his life anymore.

But Rick was still a good man under the mask of heartless revenge and unable to suffer through anymore of their pitiful bawling he knocked at the bedroom door he used to share with her.

It was worse than it sounded. Lori was a wreck. She had her period and a migraine. But she wouldn't take a pill for it because they would knock her out and she had to stay awake for the baby. She was almost catatonic. And Carl was beet red, his features swollen with tears. Rick felt like a monster. He couldn't believe he'd sank so low. He helped Lori into bed and took Carl back to his nursery.

He'd never been in the room before, but Lori had made it nice. He could tell a lot of it was done by her mother and sister but it was a sweet little room for a sweet little boy. As soon as Rick scooped the little bald, slobbery infant up into his chest, the boy quieted and laid his warm cheeks on his father's strong shoulders.

He got to know his son that night and he was moved to tears that, despite his horrendous behavior toward him, the baby seemed to hold no grudge. Carl brandished the handful of teeth he had and his dark blue eyes smiled at his dad and melted Ricks heart.

Now, in his cramped room that he loved so much, because it came from Michonne, Carl listened as his dad filled him in on that night 13 years ago. It was supposed to be a lesson in mercy for the kid who had decided his relationship with his mother could not be salvaged. He wanted to come live with his dad and Michonne for good. The non-fiction was about a monster, as Rick described, finding his humanity and trying to be better than the circumstance that made him one.

Rick wasn't asking Carl to stay with Lori like he had done, but he was telling him not to lose his empathy or any other part of his heart because of his mom. Rick made it clear that if he'd done that, he would have never been the kind of man he needed to be to earn Michonne and none of them would have had this night together.

Losing heart was like the rookie Rube Goldberg's he and Carl used to build when he was younger: one foolish thing triggering another foolish thing and the result is a bunch of nothing. Rick sat talking to Carl until his son fell asleep, the same way he had the first night they met, hoping he could keep him on a path of goodness for his own sake.

* * *

Now Rick propped himself up against the couch to Michonne's right, tilting his head back mentally drained. He rested his forearms on the points of his widespread knees covered in denim and joined her scrutiny of the little waves of heat.

"How'd it go? You wanna talk about it?" She asked as she crawled on all fours to nestle into his chest between his legs.

Rick shrugged, wondering if he'd made a difference and, even after everything he'd just said to Carl, he wondered if it was worth the effort given Lori's brand of poison. "Nah. Not right now." he said folding her into his arms, "I just want to turn my brain off for a minute. What about you? What're you out here tryin' t' find in the fire?"

"You know me. A million things." He chuckled with her, knowing full well how her scattered thought zipped from place to place.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Her umber eyes looked up at him and she scoffed sarcastically, "Does Michonne want to talk?"

He laughed again as she pointed out the obviousness of that question. He looked at his watch and said, "I can promise you twenty doze-free minutes, after that..." he pretended to snore.

"Okay. I better make the most of my time, then." She found her way to straddle him.

"So screw talkin'?"

She cocked her head in thought. "A combination of screwing _and_ talking..." Unbuttoning his shirt with a toothy grin, she applied her lips fluttering to his. "You think this is too soon for us? Hasn't even been a year we've been together..." she pushed his shirt away from his chest dropping kisses over his broad build, "and now a baby?"

"You want a year?" His sleepy voice presented, "It'll be a year by the time the baby gets here. Problem solved." He cupped her neck between his palms and pulled her in for a more passionate collision. "What else is botherin' ya?"

Smiling' she rolled her eyes at his unconcerned manner regarding the time under their belt. But she saw his point. What difference do months make when you know what you know?

"Hmm." She thought of how to word her next question while enjoying the graze of his trimmed beard around her neck. "I know you're going to say you won't care," she prefaced skeptically, "but what if my body doesn't bounce back?"

"You're right." He left her neck and cut his eyes to hers with slight irritation, lifting off her nightshirt. "I won't care. Next."

She knew he wouldn't like her next question any better. "Maybe we should just skip the whole big wedding and do something quick and simple?"

"Cryptic texts... Random clues... a dinner plate with a damn plot?" He referred to her drawn out pregnancy announcement and asked as he pulled her crotch heavy against his, "Since when are you ever quick and simple?"

She giggled, dropping her head back with pleasure at the feel of him growing between her legs. "I can be... I could be."

"I want you to have what you want." Rick suckled both breasts, remembering to be gentle and she showed her gratitude with a wanton moan. "Before you found out you were pregnant you were talkin' Roe's granddaddy's big horse ranch, two bands..."

"I said a six-piece orchestra for the ceremony and a band for the reception." She corrected him.

"Oh, right." Rick pretended it made a difference. "The point is that's what you really want. You're only gonna have one wedding..." He maneuvered her panties off and pushed his jeans and underwear off his sculpted hips, "Right?"

"Right." Michonne felt his thick length warm in her hand and whispered out a "Fuck" as her eyes closed with need. She welcomed him, slowly, into her slick tight canal on a whimper. The crush of her walls making his hardness ache like one big bruise, Rick said her name with a fist of her locs and a clutch on her ass.

She balanced herself using his shoulders as she eased lower and brought him deeper. His head fell back again and a rich moan escaped his throat pass a slacked, stubble-covered jaw. He quickly caught her mouth again to keep their ecstasy from waking Carl.

Michonne's breathing was a labored whistle, but rapid and steady. She leaned back giving Rick a better view of her sweet dark nipples, drawn taut and bounding with every buck of her hips.

He pulled his hand down her flat abdomen and lingered for a moment, marveling at the life just under his palm. He sent his thumb to light her glossy fuse peeking out from her plump lower lips. Rick stroked the bud heavy-handedly against the rigid pillar gliding through her dewy folds and massaging her g-spot deep inside her.

"You wanna talk later?" He asked her as a sheen of sweat advertised the gratifying titillation of her precious body latching onto and shivering atop his.

Michonne nodded through a satisfied frown of indulgence and with the discussion postponed, they both moved together with hungry purpose and a tender appreciation for the other's perfection until the flames in the fireplace grew cold against their white-hot release.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Bear with me through this chapter about "Laura" lol... It'll pay off later. I promise.**

 **To refresh your memory: Way back in chapter 13, on their first date, Rick told Michonne that Lori lied to get him to marry her. She told him she was pregnant, but she wasn't. Instead of divorcing her, he stayed with her to make her life miserable. Then she actually did get pregnant with Carl, after telling Rick she was on birth control. Soon after that they got divorced. This taught him a big life lesson and helped make him the man he is today.**

 **~comewithnattah**

* * *

There was a time, when they were younger, that Daryl was as close to Lori as a brother. He had checked on her as much as her sister when she told everyone she'd had a miscarriage with her first "pregnancy". He tried to pick up the slack left by what he understood to be Rick's helpless anger over losing their baby.

Daryl read the anger correctly, but it wasn't helpless, it was hateful, and it was fresh from the news that Lori had never been pregnant with his baby. Daryl thought his best friend was on his way to a nervous breakdown and he decided that while Rick and Lori dealt with their loss, he'd be there for them both.

He noticed that everything seemed to change drastically between them after that. Whenever he visited them, Lori made herself scarce. She had the guiltiest manner whenever she met Rick's eyes. And Daryl felt for her, assuming it was the irrational guilt some women feel when their bodies betray them that way.

Like a good friend he would offer a shoulder to cry on since Rick wouldn't talk about it, not even with him. Lori could only offer tears whenever he tried to get to the bottom of his best friend's distant behavior. Daryl had no idea what was going on between them, he only knew it was bad.

Then Rick's dad passed away.

When Lori didn't go with him back to their home town for the funeral, that was when Daryl knew his friends' marriage was irrevocably broken.

Rick was only supposed to be gone for a week. But he was at a crossroads. He was trying to decide if he could forgive his foolish young wife.

He was trying to decide if he should forgive his cold-hearted mother for pulling the plug on his father without exploring every option.

He was trying to decide whether he could forgive his father for giving into his depression and swallowing a bottle of his prescription pills.

He was trying to decide if he could forgive himself for staying away and leaving his dad with his tragic mother to go build a life with Lori. A life that was shaping up to be no more than a variant of the kind his father had lived.

He decided on retribution for everyone, including himself.

It took him 24 days to decide on the route from that crossroad.

When he stayed away so long without contacting Lori, she called Daryl. She still loved her husband desperately, despite his cold treatment of her. At first, she held to the hope that he still loved her since he didn't dissolve the marriage as soon as she came clean about her lie. But she'd become terrified that a breather from the stale air and murky aura of their home had sent him running.

She was shaken by the thought that his final revenge would be to leave her stranded and humiliated in the world.

Nothing had changed from then to now.

From then to now, she was still terrified she'd be left alone. And now, on top of it all, she feared losing Carl too. When Shane divulged Rick's intention to marry Michonne at their sister's baby shower, it worried her, but she figured nothing was settled until everything was done. Lori clutched to the notion that Rick had loved her when they got married. If that was true, how could he love a woman like Michonne?

Lori took one look at the beautiful dusky queen standing before her on the staircase in Sasha's home and sized her up. Her hair, her features, her figure- all so different from hers.

She stayed up at night charting the possible outcomes of this new relationship he was in. She knew Rick loved a chase. This thing with Michonne had to be one and she was sure that even if he caught her they wouldn't have enough between them to make it stick.

Even then, at the first sight of Michonne, she was standing in front of Rick and Carl like Lori's personal obstacle, _even_ chasing Shane down to pull him away from her and back to Andrea.

Now she'd walked into Michonne's baby announcement game and experienced the face-melting truth of her pregnancy.

This would keep Rick. Lori knew it.

It kept him tethered to _her_ all this time and he didn't even feel for her what he felt for Michonne. She was beginning to recognize that.

This was the cruelest pain he'd inflicted, bar none. He was making a family. The one she wanted. She had tried to make one with him and like most things she did, it was a whirlpool of disaster -pulling Rick further away into the sea outside of her reach and pulling her down into the deep dark cold.

She tried to steal a family from him. She tried to kidnap and hold him hostage for a family. She tried to force it and it broke.

From then to now, she still loved Rick desperately. She loved him even more than she had back then for all the same reasons why she'd ruined it for herself in the first place: He was a man like no other.

From then to now, she knew who to call for help to bring him back. She only hoped his best friend would help her this time. Things were different between them, now, as well.

"Hi Daryl." Lori greeted her former friend through a nervous attempt at casualness.

"You can't be serious..." Daryl couldn't believe she had the nerve to call him after the lies and the scene at the Ford's house.

Her voice was pitiful and weak and this time she wasn't faking her pain and all the wine in her kitchen hadn't dulled it. "I need your help Daryl. Remember I used to be your friend too, not just Rick." she sought to bend him to her will with the words.

"I don't think you can be anybody's friend, Lori. A snake is a lonely animal.

A snake? What makes me a snake?

"You're low as one ain't ya? Keepin' Carl from his family on Thanksgivin'."

Lori scoffed, "His family? _I'm_ his family. Not those ... people." She spat, remembering the faces of everyone at the baby shower looking at her like she didn't belong. "And I was in an accident. Rick didn't tell you that?"

"You _are_ the accident, Lori."

"And you're the mistake, remember?"

Those words slid into Daryl's belly like a blade.

" _It was a mistake."_

That's what he'd said that morning years ago.

He woke up at his best friend's house with his wife naked on the couch beside him.

The memory of that day had sat like a yoke on his neck, heavy in its burdensome link to Lori.

Everett Grimes was dead and buried but he still couldn't get in touch with Rick for days after his funeral. Daryl had wanted to go with him for support, but Rick asked him to stay and keep an eye on things. Their fledgling business was a good reason for Daryl to stay. They didn't have a "Carol" yet to keep everything going in their absence.

It was true when Rick said his mother would understand and his dad would've been proud of the work they were doing. The grieving son suggested Daryl could pay his respects by making sure their venture was a success.

Rick just wanted to be alone. He wanted to try and figure out his life. He wanted to lay his father to rest and sit in silence to figure a way he could avoid becoming the man in the coffin.

Daryl of course did what he was asked. And when Lori called him crying, thinking that Rick was gone for good, he came over in innocence to assuage her fears.

She plied him with drinks and came onto him.

She was lonely, and she always operated under the assumption that everyone was just like her. That if presented with an opportunity, anybody would get what they could out of a situation regardless of who it hurt.

As his friend, she knew Daryl was having a dry spell, without a girlfriend for nearly a year, busy trying to get their company grounded. The cause of _her_ dry spell was less respectable, but she figured they could work up a little summer rain. The kind where the asphalt looks dry again minutes after the downpour.

So, she presented Daryl with an opportunity, he kissed her back, initially, but even through the dark liquor ripples circling his head, he remembered his brother, Rick Grimes, and loyalty won.

Lori was embarrassed, but more than that she was angry. She apologized meekly and insisted he stay on the couch as he was too drunk to drive home. Unfortunately for him, she was right about him being too drunk and he crashed on her couch.

Would Daryl's loyalty see him come clean and tell Rick what she'd done? She knew he would eventually...

Unless she could make him feel like he'd been just as responsible for heaping more pain on his already unbalanced friend.

She thought all night about what to do and settled on creeping back into the living room and wrapping her naked body around his, leading him to believe a lie.

Things seemed off to Daryl as he drove back home on his cruiser that morning. The brisk air of that late March morning slapped him in the face, drove his tears back into his helmet and sobered him more than he wanted to be.

The contradiction of trying to peel the image of his best friend, brother and business partner's naked wife out of his mind while still trying to pull up a second's worth of memory of their supposed affair was taking its toll.

When he finally talked to Rick he could tell any more bad news would send him over the edge. Daryl knew Rick was a lot like his father. He wouldn't risk pushing him to the same end. So he begged, him to come back for the sake of their business. Daryl joked through the painful truth that it was unfair he was stuck with Lori and Rick had to come save him. Rick did, but still Lori held that morning over Daryl's head a long time.

She was trying to keep one ally she could use as a conduit to Rick. But with Michonne in their world Lori had lost her power not just with Rick it seemed, but with almost everyone who had the chance to compare the two.

Lori continued on the phone with Daryl, "With him getting married, I'm sure he's gonna need his best man to stand for him again. How's that gonna feel when you're standing up there at his back while he says his vows to the new wife when you fucked the ex-wife? That doesn't sound like anything a _best_ man would do."

"So, what're you plannin' to do with that? You're such a cunt. How do you think callin' me with this bullshit is gonna help you? I'm really curious."

Lori was speechless for a moment at the acrid response. Over the years, the mention of that leverage brought Daryl to heel, but he seemed unfazed. "Look, Daryl, I..."

"Nah, you look. I been worried about losin' my friend over this for a long time, but some thangs about that night ain't never added up to me."

Honestly, some things about that night never added up to _Carol_ , who had gotten the full story from Daryl a while ago when they had called a meeting of their two-member Life Sucks club. Instead of fucking like they should have, they got wasted, Carol rolled a few fat ones and they both told the saddest tales they had.

Carol never liked Lori much, but she had to give it to that nerve-racking bitch: She played Daryl like a fiddle. The older woman saw it immediately and laid it all out for him that night through puffs of purple haze and the sweet sting of whiskey.

Daryl's lady-friend had agreed with him that telling Rick about that night would've been useless back then. At that point, even from a second-hand account, Carol could tell Rick didn't love his wife.

Daryl felt like a weight had been lifted and he opted to let bygones be bygones rather than kick up any dust with a broad deranged enough to _pretend_ to sleep with her husband's best friend... for what, only the rabid hamster running the wheel in her mind could say.

But since the hamster was running the wheel back in his direction now, he decided to call Lori out on all her bull,

"Last thing I remember is tellin' you I would never do that to Rick. When I wake up nuthin's out of the ordinary with me 'cept an unbuckled belt, but you're buck naked?"

Lori was quiet for a few beats.

"But what gives it away more than anythang is: there wudn't a wet spot or cum stain nowhere. So, either your pussy is full of Martian dust or we never..."

'Well, maybe we'll just let Rick decide who to believe. It'll be my word against yours."

"Yeah. I don't know what world you're stuck in Lori, but your word is worth 'bout as much as a canoe on a frozen lake."

Carol happened to be at Daryl's house when Lori's call came in.

She was in her bra and jeans with her bare feet resting in his lap. They were playing records with her bong blazing an Afghan kush called Berry White. Daryl was just about to taste her when his phone rang. He'd turned down the funky twang of The Bee Gees guitar blaming it all on 'The Nights on Broadway'. That song took Carol out of her hardened dreariness and back to her saucy 16-year-old self, back to her heyday.

Lori was making a critical mistake trying to take advantage of Daryl. Unlike before, Dixon/Grimes had a Carol now. While she tried to stay out of the conflicts between Lori, Rick and their ex-husband/ex-wife drama, nobody was going to fuck with Daryl. Nobody. After Carl missed Thanksgiving she decided she was going to give Lori a good talking to at her next opportunity. After Rick called her thinking Michonne might be pregnant, Carol figured Lori's antics would escalate and she'd have to _make_ an opportunity rather than wait for one. Now, with Lori calling Daryl, taking and making opportunities had morphed into all-out war.

Carol wouldn't drag it out. With the mood broken, she relieved her, as yet, untitled nighttime companion of his phone. As a disciple of the teaching: 'Nip it in the Bud', she took the liberty of sermonizing that particular gospel to Lori,

"Hello, Lori. This is Carol." She blew out a nebula of berry skunk the same color as her hair.

"Hello..." Lori answered with a tinge of wariness at the sudden introduction of the inhospitable tone of Carol's voice. She knew Carol's manner to be barbed and vague. And though she'd worked for her ex-husband's outfit for over a decade, Lori wasn't really sure where she stood with the dictator of Dixon/Grimes. Most of the time Carol regarded her as a busy parent might look on a disobedient stepchild.

"Lori, you have the wrong number." Carol informed the addled instigator dismissively, her eyes closed and her toes still swinging to the undercurrent of the music bumping through the fog of the room.

"I'm sorry?"

Carol gave a Cheshire smile to Daryl as he took another sip of his tumbler. "Don't be sorry, dear. Be on your way."

"Uh, Carol..."

"No, no. Bitch." Carol cut her off with a mellow and controlled timbre that somehow felt venomous as the words snaked from her tongue. Trigger came and offered her a kiss and Carol obliged her and scratched behind the big mutt's ear lovingly. "You're blowing my high. So, listen. You don't ever call this number again." She said calmly through a kissy face for Trigger. "The day you do, I will put you out of your misery as surely as night follows day."

Lori held her breath, speechless.

"If your goal is to complicate Rick's life using his best friend, I will complicate your vitals. If your goal is to sabotage Michonne's happiness, I will sabotage your windpipe." Carol began to wiggle out of her pants, uncovering her black satin panties. Pushing her feet into his couch cushions to lift herself, she held Daryl's phone between her ear and shoulder. "And if your goal is to manipulate Carl in any way, you will be lost ... sadly lost forever ... but never missed. Do you understand me?"

Lori didn't know why but she felt a shudder in her bowels at Carol's purposed itinerary for Judgement Day. She sounded nothing like a woman who shopped the clearance rack for Anne Klein slacks and every bit like the unstable lone-wolf with the launch codes next to her morning coffee.

"Yes." A whisper came across the line. "I'm sorry." Lori eked out an apology through a fainthearted stutter.

"Now, say thank you, Carol." the dragon-like woman with the hair of a silver fairy commanded Lori.

Bored with the call, she didn't hear the shaky 'thank you' as she tossed his phone on the floor at Trigger's feet, leaving the call un-ended to pick up the sounds in the room. She raised the volume of the antique record player and pulled Daryl on top of her by the collar of his t-shirt while Barry, Maurice and Robin Gibbs caterwauled a rhythmic falsetto in Lori's ear.

 _Blamin' it all (I'm blamin' it all)_  
 _On the nights on Broadway (blame it on the nights on Broadway)_  
 _Singin' them love songs (yeah, yeah)_  
 _Singin' them "straight to the heart" songs_  
 _Blamin' it all (I'm blamin' it all)_  
 _On the nights on Broadway (blame it on the nights on Broadway)_  
 _Singin' them sweet sounds (oh yeah yeah)_

 _To that crazy, crazy town (yeah)_

* * *

After Carol's menacing words, Lori called her sister. She told her all the things she would have liked to say to the woman who hijacked her call to Daryl. The things she would have _liked_ to say burned at the forefront of her shaken mind... but Lori was no fool. She did foolish, aggravating things, but she wasn't an actual fool. And that's why after venting to her sister, Leslie, she decided to lay low for the weekend. She left Carl unpestered while he spent the weekend with Rick, in case her son was somewhere Carol might be, for fear of finding herself back on the radar of the steely threat-maker.

She occupied her time with Negan like she did whenever her son was away now. He had the reckless fun-loving personality of Shane, the clear-headed protective instinct of Rick and the good looks and southern charm of them both. He was the perfect distraction and after a bottle of wine she could almost forget Rick, Carl, Michonne- all of it- laughing at his antics.

They zipped around all weekend, tearing through traffic in his Aston Martin. He got pulled over three times in two days, but he was too smooth to get a ticket, even though Lori spied the speedometer go over 100 mph.

But now that the weekend was over and Carl was back home giving her the cold shoulder, she called Negan to whine about her huffy teenager and her exasperation with her life.

He suggested a brief change of scenery,

"Mama you know I got you. You need a break? You got a break. Pack your bags. A pretty little thing like you needs to be on the beach in an itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka dot bikini. With a pina-colada in one hand and my johnson in the other."

"Negan! You're the worst." Lori chortled.

"You said I was the best last night... you screamed it, to be exact. Come on, baby. You can meet my family. I'd love to show you off... let them meet the goddess I'm fallin' for."

"I don't know." Lori hesitated on accepting his offer, "It's so dangerous these days."

"Lori-Love," He called her by his pet name for her and she reveled in the sweet newness of it, "Do you really think Poppa Bear would take you somewhere unsafe?" He spoke tenderly, his voice an erotic hush through the phone, "Do you?"

"No..." She believed he'd do everything in his power to keep her safe. But terrorist attacks, governmental unrest- those things were out of his control. "But you can't stop a bomb from going off, no matter how much you want to protect me."

Negan scoffed incredulously, "Come on, Love. You can't believe everything you see on TV. Where have you been? American news is so fake... Trump knows his shit. If I could'a voted for him I would've." But Negan loved his Saudi citizenship too much to jump ship.

He was born Neekan Al Lithi and when his family sent him to school in America, people pronounced his name wrong enough to make him change it to Negan Louis. He stayed with his wealthy uncle here in the states, but he spent school breaks back home in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. He found that the accolades of southern hospitality were exaggerated compared to the openness and generosity in the KSA.

He was completely Americanized, but his heart was in his homeland. Lori thought he was so charming and she liked that he was different. It fascinated her that he could speak Arabic, Spanish and a little French. She liked that he wasn't _too_ different, though. He wasn't a devout adherent to Islam. He respected it as the religion of his forefathers, but he didn't go to mosque. He didn't seem devoted to much... other than Negan and, now, his Lori-Love.

She liked that he didn't wear the traditional headdress, thawb or anything that would make him stand out- that would make her uncomfortable if they happened to run into people she knew. He didn't _look_ like a "foreigner" and she never told anybody that he was, not even her sister. He normally donned jeans, a pair of boots and a black leather jacket over a ribbed wool turtleneck. He gave her a 90210 Dylan McKay vibe that she used to cream for when she was younger, and she felt like the popular girl on his arm.

But there was no mistaking his love for the nation of his birth and he was working hard to make every inch of it as upscale and luxurious as Manhattan, L.A. or Miami with his engineering degree from Virginia Tech. He had big plans. Lori was flattered and wide-eyed that he shared all his plans and dreams with her. He talked to her a lot. He wanted to bring her in. The more he did the more she found to admire. And she recalled that Rick never did that, not even when they were dating.

Lori had Negan and by all accounts, she should be happy. But she still wanted Rick. Sometimes she got a distinct tightness in her chest whenever she thought about him and Michonne and her happiness would stall out like a stick shift.

"Nobody wanted an old uppity bitch runnin' the country... especially not other old uppity bitches." Negan surmised about the last election, "That's why a man won."

"Yeah, we'll I'm sorry I voted for him." Lori lamented having gotten caught up in the novelty of the millionaire moron and now avoided the news as her president did one asinine thing after another.

"No, he's got the right idea. Shut up all these cry baby news organizations, nuke whoever gets in the way, close the borders..."

"Close the borders?" Lori asked surprised. "Then how could _you_ get in?"

"Sugar, those kinds of rules don't apply to men with bank accounts like mine. But America's gotta keep the riffraff out."

Lori giggled at his use of the word riffraff and perked at the mention of a bank account big enough to bend rules in his favor. Shane had a lot to say about the BMW Negan was driving when she bumped him. He'd said it was a cherry of a car. A mint condition M6 Gran Coupe that her pre-Thanksgiving Day boyfriend speculated her post-Thanksgiving Day boyfriend paid at least $100,000 for.

"It does look beautiful there." she thought about the pictures and videos he'd shown her of the coastal city where he lived. It was a stunning metropolis with resorts crowding the shoreline, sunsets over the sea and sunrises in the mountains. Vibrant colors on the streets, mouthwatering seafood dishes and the kind smiles of the Saudi people filled his Instagram account. He called every one of them a friend and had a side-splitting story to go with each face. Photography was a hobby of his and he painted a detailed picture of all the grandeur of his middle eastern country.

"The beauty of that place is disgustin'. It's like god was showin' off when he made the Kingdom."

"The picture of the view from your terrace is my favorite. I've never seen the water go red like that reflecting the sky. It's really breathtaking."

"Now, hold that thought: On my terrace at sunset. The breeze comin' off the Red Sea. On our way to Prince Asaad's party... I told you, you've never partied, til you party Saudi." he repeated one of his many catchphrases. "Filthy rich has a whole new meanin' over there." Lori giggled, imagining the opulence Negan was always describing about his country. He was one of the biggest car collectors in the states but, he admitted, in the KSA, his vintage fleet was considered modest at best. "I want to take you to see the pyramids... I could have us in Cairo in a couple hours on a private jet. We could make love under the stars in the desert."

Once, Lori's parents took her and Leslie on a month-long tour of eastern European cities when they were small, but since then she never had the occasion to travel. Her best- and only- friend was her sister but she had a bunch of kids and health conditions that grounded her.

As Rick's business had grown more successful, he hopped flights more and more frequently, leaving her behind like a forgotten toothbrush. Sometimes he'd take Carl along on business trips when Carol and Daryl went too. Lori envied her son when he came back with tales and pictures of adventures with his dad and their friends.

 _Maybe I do need a change of scenery,_ Lori thought. "Oh, you make it hard to say no."

"Then say yes, Love. I gotta go get this buildin' contract up and runnin' and it kills me thinkin' about bein' without you for weeks. So, say yes... like you do when I'm up to my ears in that sweet twat of yours."

"But, Carl..." Lori sat behind the closed door of her bedroom as she came back to reality, hearing her son's rumbling march down the stairs. She smiled knowing he was going down there for a late-night snack. Wistful thoughts about how she knew his every movement and how they'd been inseparable when he was little turned her mouth to a disconcerted pout. She used to be his favorite parent. Now he barely acknowledged her in the home she made for him.

"Look, Carl's a sweet kid." Negan assured her, though he still hadn't met her son and had no real interest in doing so, "He loves his momma almost as much as I do." He casually threw in the L word unattached to any nickname. Something she hadn't heard from the opposite sex in a long while. "He wants to go stay with your ex and his little hip-hop honey? Let him." He suggested with conviction. Like he had all the answers. "He'll see the difference between momma's love and crackin' jokes with some chick he's only known a few months." Lori smiled at the sense that made as Negan continued, "Then when you get back from havin' the time of your life with me in KSA, Carl will be dyin' to get back home."

He was so hard to argue with and honestly, she didn't want to say anything but yes.

"Let me think about it. I'll decide by the weekend."


	26. Chapter 26

For your patience through that last chapter, here is some fluff. Also some of you have asked about Rick's mom, so here's a peek at her. *rolls eyes*

~comewithnattah

* * *

"Babe!"

Michonne rolled her eyes as she called to Rick again, seated at her vanity in their master bath. Her makeup was done and her carefully sculpted high bun only required a few more pins. There was no response to the sugary tone of her shout. Pulling a hair pin open with her teeth, she twisted in her place toward the bedroom keeping her eyes on the mirror and summoned him more tersely, "Rick!"

She was startled when she finally looked at the doorway and saw him standing there. His nostrils were flared and his brow raised with his phone to his ear.

She brought her shoulders up to her ears with wide, apologetic eyes for disrupting his call and mouthed a 'So _rry_ ' to him, assuming it was business. When she noticed he was just holding the phone to his ear, not speaking, she mouthed to him again, _'Is that your mom?'_

Rick fashioned his hand into a gun and blasted his invisible brains all over the walls, making Michonne giggle and shake her head. He pulled his hand over his face, burnt out from his mother's nearly 20 minute monologue.

"Mom... Mom... I got... Mom... I gotta go. Michonne needs me for somethin'."

"Tell Florence I said hello." Michonne spoke loudly, acknowledging her soon to be mother-in-law.

"Michonne says hi, mom. You wanna say a quick hello to the lady of the house?"

Michonne snickered to herself at Rick's clever attempt to get his mother off the phone. It worked and she shook her head at Mrs. Grimes' arbitrary dislike for her. Rick said his goodbye's and slipped his phone in his pocket.

"Out of the frying pan, into the fire." he joked at Michonne's expense as he folded his arms and leaned in the doorway. She was a sight, to be sure, all dolled up. But she'd been badgering him all morning and now she seemed ready to continue. "What can I do for you _now_ , beautiful?"

Already, she'd sweetly suggested that he change from his Henley, jeans and work boots to a collar shirt, tie and leather chukkas... and not the tie he picked at first... or the next one. Michonne was in ' _fake it 'til you make it'_ mode and determined to look like two people capable of nurturing a new life when she met her O.B. today. Rick had proven himself in the parenting arena, but she was straddling the fence between total confidence and complete freaking out.

She asked him to go down to the cleaners and pick up her dress- a form-fitting burgundy and beige damask mini with a peter pan collar. It complimented the tie she had in mind for him all along. He could've saved himself a lot of trouble if only he would have read her mind.

She made breakfast for them both but she wanted grilled salmon with her egg and bagel, which meant he had to go out on the blustery balcony and get the grill all set up for her.

He had already taken the entire day off from work at her request, which meant more phone calls than usual this morning. But he'd done it all without complaint, just the occasional side eye. She said she wanted to make a day of their first prenatal appointment. But the day she had made so far was long. Rick felt like he could take a nap already and it was only nine o'clock.

She completely sidestepped why she'd called him in there and asked, "What's Flo got going on?"

His mother hated being called Flo, as Michonne knew well, and Rick chuckled thinking of his mother's disagreeable face. "Talkin' 'bout Lori. Her _accident_ and how she's so happy she's survived."

"Still?"

"And how she likes this new boyfriend of hers better than that other _young man_ -that's your brother."

"I assumed." Michonne said slipping an earring in her ear. "Wait, when did she ever meet Bubba?"

"She didn't. She's just Lori's parrot. If Lori says this new guy is better, then he must be. Because Lori is an angel and nobody else will ever compare to her." He mocked his mother's preoccupation with his ex-wife.

Florence Grimes had been so happy when Rick married Lori. The little brunette looked like a catalog model, had southern manners issued from a proper tongue and came from a well-known, well-respected family. Rick's mom had a scene in her head of Rick moving back near her, with the white picket fence and family that every red-blooded American has been brainwashed to strive for.

When Lori lost their "first baby", Mrs. Grimes was devastated for her and ever since, she's been president of the Lori fan club. She fell out with her son a time or two over his treatment of his wife in her time of need. She took him to task over his neglect of Carl that first year and when they were finally divorced, it was his fault for not trying harder with Lori.

"So nothing about us being pregnant and nothing about the wedding?"

"Nope. Nothin' 'bout the weddin'..." Rick went to get his coat, noticing that Michonne was just about ready. He hollered back to her over his shoulder, "But she did say," he raised his pitch imitating his mother's nasally southern squawking, "that I shouldn't be out here gettin' _all these different kinds'a_ _women pregnant like some sorta damned pimp._ "

"So you're a pimp for having a baby with the woman you're about to marry, which, by the way, is the same situation she _thought_ you were in with Lori when you guys got married," Michonne pointed out, "but she's cool with Lori being with Bubba one month and this new dude the next?"

"Oh, you didn't know, 'Chonne?" Rick said sarcastically, "According to Florence Grimes, being a single mother makes it hard to find a good man."

"So does being a hoe, but I digress." Michonne mumbled, but Rick still heard her. He chuckled to himself in silent agreement as she turned her focus back to his mother. She yelled to him, "But I'll take being called _different_ over being called... What did she call me that time?"

"Wayward." Rick reminded her from the walk-in closet next door. "She said you looked like a wayward woman."

When Michonne had made a big deal about meeting Rick's mom, he gave in and made the trip. He had a glimmer of hope that his woman's funny, bubbly disposition would disarm his mother the way it had disarmed him. He'd seen Michonne turn potential enemies to adoring fans in the briefest of encounters and in the most unlikely circumstances. Maybe his mother would see his happiness and be happy for him.

Rick knew it would be a tough sell and he told Michonne as much. His relationship with his mother was complicated and best maintained at a distance. As usual, his warnings went unheeded by Michonne and he could tell right away that his mother and Michonne would not be baking cookies together on Christmas morning like you see in commercials.

His typically talkative mother barely said two words to Michonne, even though she was the first woman her son had ever made a point to bring home. The effervescent beauty gave it a valiant effort to be kind while still remaining _unapologetically Michonne._ She ignored the resentful looks and critical comments, but to no avail.

Still, Florence couldn't deny that Michonne was a gorgeous woman. "I see the appeal... from a man's perspective." she condescended later during one of her lopsided phone calls with her son. Rick listened as she implied that a woman like Michonne is good for sating his baser desires, but that he was too old to be chasing those impulses. "A half naked woman... loud... with no semblance of subtlety..." Florence trailed off, bordering on disgust. "I raised you better than that."

Rick spoke over his mother's grating words. "She's more than that."

"A little mid-life crisis is unavoidable for men, I guess. Just keep her in her place." his mother advised with disdain, "Remember you and Lori may not be living life together, but you _made_ a life together. Your son's mother should be the woman first on your list, even before me."

Rick told his mother that Lori did not occupy a first place ranking on any list he had. Whatever he did for her was about duty and nothing more. It was pretty much the same with his mother, though, out of respect, he would never tell her that. At any rate, Rick had no doubts that, after a few months of dating, Michonne already outranked Lori and Florence in every corner of his heart. So his mother's dissatisfaction with her was disappointing, but not surprising and of no consequence to him.

Michonne easily felt the same way. Her life had overqualified her to deal with rejection. A mother's rejection in particular. She always made a conscious decision to fill her life with people who loved her and fill her review mirror with the people who didn't.

"Yeah, wayward." Michonne laughed as she brought up the camera on her phone and propped it up on the dressing table in front of her.

"The outfit you had on that day was..." Rick was at a loss for words just thinking about her sinful figure in the shorts she had worn the day she met his mother. "I told you, you were a sensory overload for an old cranky lady like her. Most of the time you're a sensory overload for me." He chuckled as he came back to stand at the bathroom's threshold pulling his coat up his arm, hat in hand. "I like it, though." he offered with a wink.

When Michonne turned and saw Rick in his coat, she scrunched her face in irritation, "Uh uh, Big Pimpin'. We're about to do this video together."

"Another one?" Rick slouched his shoulders and tilted his head like a four year old.

"Yes, Rick Grimes. Don't look at me like that. I said I want to document the pregnancy... the whole thing. At least every week and the milestones like our first doctor's visit. Come on." She waved him over and patted the cushion of her vanity bench.

The warm lights of the bulbs surrounding her mirror made her skin glow like the ring of an eclipsed sun. Michonne knew it. That's why she'd picked this spot for her countdown to baby videos.

The effect wasn't lost on Rick either and he continued an outward protest, while his manhood protested his restrictive slacks every time he looked her squarely in the face. The face that bewitched him in the dark, never mind the shimmer of gold she radiated under illumination.

Rick sighed and dragged himself to her side and sat with his back to the mirror. "Michonne..."

"Rick, this is good. It'll be nice to look back on this... and we can show it to the baby one day."

"But before the baby sees it, all your followers will."

"Well, what's wrong with sharing our experience with other people. I watched a bunch of pregnancy videos and they made me happy and excited. Wouldn't you like to do that for someone?"

Rick just looked at her incredulously and laced his fingers in his lap as though he were waiting for a better excuse. So she gave him another.

"People get a lot of good information, the personal... individual experience that you can't get from books... in videos like this. Maybe people will watch my video diary and get answers to questions they have."

"Yeah, you're doin' this for the benefit of humanity." He said sarcastically, "How could pregnant women ever give birth without a video from you? It'll be the end of the human race if you don't record every little thang that happens."

Michonne was none too pleased with his snark and she shot him a look communicating just that. Rick didn't budge an inch, staring right back at her.

"So you don't want to be in this video about our first visit to the obstetrician?"

"I didn't say that. But I don't want you to go overboard with this either...

What could she say? She did often go overboard. That was not a secret. It was also not necessary to point out. She calmed herself and tried to turn the volume down on her lips for a second, "Okay. Rick, you're right. I _can_ go overboard. But a bitch can swim!" She cocked her head indignantly, failing at a civil tone. "We're getting married, having a baby! This is big shit! If that's not a reason to go overboard, get me hip please!"

"A bitch can swim?" Rick repeated Michonne's saucy retort with a chuckle. She had a way of muddling his irritation with her fireball brand of cuteness.

She set him straight, her voice bouncing off the walls of the bathroom. "Don't laugh at me! I'm dead serious! What do you consider going overboard?"

"Puttin' everythang out there! I don't know... private stuff... I don't want you turnin' our life into a reality show. Like Kim Kardashian or somethin'!"

Michonne could see them creeping into an argument and she didn't want _this_ day to be _that_. While she bristled at being compared to Kim, she bit back a response for that comparison and said with a huff, "How about we make this video and if I say anything..." she threw quotes in the air, ... "overboard" ... giving him a ridiculous look, "you let me know and pull me back to the boat? Deal?"

He rubbed his palm back and forth across his forehead, then up and over his brown curls and based on those tells, she claimed that win even before he said,

"Okay, go 'head."

She adjusted herself by the image displayed on her screen and started recording. She smiled brightly, while Rick tried not to. "Hi." she waved happily. "So, today we have our first OB visit and I'm really excited to meet my doctor and the baby... hear the heartbeat and get my first peek at my little bean. What about you, babe?" She turned to her man, grabbing his chin and popping a big kiss to his cheek to break his flat attitude.

"I'm excited to." He said with barely a smile and an aura of aloofness that made the pretty lady to his left want to choke him.

Michonne decided to force-feed him a little oomph for the camera through a wicked word or two. She turned back to the camera and spoke to her eventual audience, "As you can tell, Rick is really excited because his big fat dick is the reason we're going and..."

Caught off guard, he came to life then, springing forward to press stop and end the recording. "The hell, 'Chonne!" he groused as she cackled in amusement. She snatched the phone from him and replayed the video laughing at the face he made as soon as the word "dick" left her mouth. She saved the seconds-long recording, intending to laugh at it later. Rick couldn't help but laugh, too. "My mother is right. You are a wayward woman!" he flashed his dazzling smile and pulled one of her locs out of her bun in retaliation.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Was talking about your _big fat_ dick going overboard?" She faked ignorance while emphasizing her adjectives and batting her lashes innocently.

"Yes!" he answered through a laugh.

"But I didn't even say how many inches you're working with!" she joked, trying to catch her breath.

"Stop!"

"Are you gonna act right, then?" She asked him as an ultimatum and not waiting for a promise to comply, she set up everything again. "Fix my hair back, too."


	27. Chapter 27

Michonne was surprised to find out that Roe's information was somewhat misleading. Dr. Malcolm wasn't actually a doctor, she was a Certified Nurse Midwife. While she filled out her paperwork, she made Rick google and read to her the difference between a doctor and a midwife and she tried to make the mental shift, but she still didn't know how she felt about it.

Rick seemed relaxed. His arm was draped over the back of the waiting room couch where he slouched in his nice crisp dress shirt, his curls falling dark over his collar. His coat was slung over his carelessly wide knees, his thigh resting against hers as he read, scrolling with his thumb.

But Michonne noticed his other thumb was cracking the knuckles on his hand. Rick seemed relaxed, but he was nervous too. His mind a rattle, he wasn't reading her body language like he would've any other time as she sat curled up around the clipboard, holding onto it tightly with sweaty palms. But she enjoyed Rick's rich timbre as he conveyed the same information on midwifery from three different websites. It soothed her just a bit and slowed the flutter of the butterflies in her belly.

Once he stopped reading, the instrumental Christmas music seemed to fade to nothing in the quiet of the room and, in a complete role reversal, he sought out her touch to steady his trepidation. Rick sat up next to Michonne. Resting his chin over her shoulder with his arms tucked under hers around her waist, he watched her write and date and sign all the pertinent data to register a new patient.

"You got pretty handwritin'." He gave her a familiar compliment, then complained into her ear, "Nobody's in here. What's takin' so long?"

She nuzzled her face to his, "We've been here literally five minutes, Mr. Patience." Michonne smiled, having never seen this side of him before. Jittery. Uncomfortable in silence. Normally she was the nervous talker. Not even when he met her family for the first time did he seem so on edge. "Chill out." she whispered, swinging her hip into him to punctuate her command. "You're making me nervous."

"You're makin' _me_ nervous."

. . . .

A staff member named Sarah- wearing jeans, a turtleneck and flip flops advertising her critical need for a pedicure- gave them a tour of the facilities. Everyone there was dressed down and next to them, Rick, in his tie and Michonne in her hose and heels, looked tremendously out of place. They both took in the sleepy atmosphere trying to decide if it was too casual or pleasantly laid back. The couple shared a suspicious glance about whether this place would be a good fit for them.

Sarah had dark roots, bleached waves dyed a fading blue and a soft-spoken, informal approach. The whole place was decked out for Christmas. A twelve-foot-tall tree towered in the corner of the lobby with a rainbow of lights. The young 'blue-nette' pointed out the army of tiny, colorful newborn footprints in a variety of frames lining the halls- Ian, Devaughn, Fatmah- all inscribed with the names of the little lives that took their first breaths under the tall tented roof above them. Michonne squeezed Ricks hand as they walked through the clean, flowery scent of the corridors, cooing and pointing at the little toes and Rick smiled at her excitement.

It would be a lie to say he wasn't just as excited. Even though he was a father, he'd never been through the whole process of pregnancy. He was nervous about finding good care for the lady pulling him along and prodding him to gush over baby feet.

Sarah explained birthing classes, water births and discharge procedures. She showed them on a map how close the hospital would be in case any complications occurred. Now they were in what she called a birthing suite sitting at a small table like you might find at a cafe, waiting for the CNM. The room looked less like a doctor's office and more like a room at a luxury bed and breakfast with a four-poster bed, couch and jetted tub.

"What do you think about this place?" Michonne whispered to Rick as she looked around the room.

On a scan of the suite from the other direction, their eyes finally settled on each other and Rick shrugged with a down-turned mouth indicating his indecisiveness. "Seems nice. Friendly staff."

"Yeah. They're a bunch of sweet ladies. Michonne agreed. "I'm trying not to be a hypocrite and judge a book by its cover like _somebody's_ mother." She joked about Flo to share a smile with him. "It's just... not what I was expecting, I guess."

"If you're not comfortable, I'm sure Roe will understand. Either way if you don't like it here we'll find another doctor." Rick whispered sliding his hand to the back of her neck stroking her under her ear gently with his thumb. "You know how this works: you get whatever you want."

Michonne decided this midwife would be the deciding factor for this place. If she came in looking like a rain forest gypsy, the birthing center experience would be a no go for them.

. . . .

"Hello, mom and dad!" a warm cheery voice from the doorway behind them called. The woman entering the room did not look like a gypsy... she looked like the _queen_ of the gypsies. She wore a bohemian maxi dress in a wild paisley print, thick wool socks, Birkenstock sandals and a familiar face.

"Heeeeey!" Michonne said happily, standing up to give the stumpy older woman, with a long gray braid in a high ponytail, a hug.

"What a small world!" the midwife cheered as she moved on to embrace Rick.

"Miss Viv?" He took a moment to recollect as the frisky older woman held a little tighter and longer to Michonne's fiancé.

The trio chuckled in rapt delight as the practitioner came to sit across from them at the table. "This is special." She said pointedly. "So, Mimi is short for Michonne and you know Deanna?"

"Yep." Michonne answered. "She's like a mother to me."

"And Rick, how have you been... besides handsome as hell?" Mrs. Vivian Malcolm queried with a fast grin.

"This pretty lady is havin' my baby..." He looked at Michonne with a serious face, "So, I been great."

"I know that's right. You two didn't waste any time. Did I miss the wedding?"

"She's makin' me wait til February." Rick gave a joking tone to the truth of his statement.

Michonne was tearing up already as she thought about the coincidence of seeing the wise old widow from their history-making first date. It was like seeing Rick again at Mike's birthday party or the kismet it took for her to be pregnant right now. She felt relieved as she expected that another piece of her journey docked into place. But before she could get a nice good cry going, Miss Viv made her laugh,

"Not til February, huh? I still got time then." She flirtatiously wiggled her brow at Rick and he shook his head with a bashful grin. "Oh, I love my job! I watch love grow for a living. Isn't that special? But this is an extra special treat for me. I got a peek of you two falling in love and now I get to take care of your little seed!"

"How's Diamond?" Michonne asked accepting a tissue from Rick's pocket. She had a travel pack herself, but it was Rick's extreme pleasure to give Michonne what she needed, and she was working on willingly allowing him that pleasure, even on a note as negligible as drying her eyes.

"Diamond's fantastic. She would've been at the front desk this morning but she's doing her residency at the hospital with her dad."

Rick was impressed but he remembered Diamond and knew she was a young lady with a good head on her shoulders. "Wow. So medicine is a family affair?"

"Well, Blue eyes." She winked at Rick, "All my sons are in the field, but I don't practice medicine per se." she corrected. "We give birth here and that's not something that requires medicine, hopefully. Which is why, here, we can only do this journey with healthy mothers, who expect a normal, intervention-free birth. We just facilitate miracles and let God do the rest."

Rick looked down as he turned his tweed ivy cap over in his hands, bashful at the mention of God, but he knew who was pulling the strings and he was grateful. His eyes were in danger of matching Michonne's misty browns. He looked around the place again, eager to talk about something else before he needed to loot his girl's tissue supply for himself. "What does intervention-free mean?"

"It means a completely natural birth. No invasive instruments. We don't do C-sections here. We don't administer anesthesia like epidurals, though sometimes we can give mom something to take the edge off the pain. The goal here is to listen to you, provide the support necessary to manage your discomfort... basically be the back-up singers because you're the star of the show. We want you to feel at home here. The more comfortable mom is, the better and easier her birth experience."

Rick nodded. "That why this place don't look like a regular doctor's office?"

"It is. I mean, I'm not a doctor, that would be a demotion in my opinion. A midwife just has a talent at birthing and it don't take us nearly ten years of school to perfect our craft." She looked to the dark-skinned beauty, remembering she was an artist and could, no doubt, understand a talent like she described. But Michonne seemed lost in her thoughts. "Mimi, you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Just excited. Just have a lot of questions."

"Me too. So let's get started." Miss Viv said, opening Michonne's mostly empty file. I was a bit confused by one thing here. This says your last period was approximately August 25th?"

"Yeah, I didn't know. I mean... I was busy... work... My sister had a Belly... I mean a baby and we..." She gestured between herself and Rick trying to find the words to express how out of it she was while they were apart for weeks without saying they were apart for weeks. "It was just a crazy couple months and... I..." Michonne stuttered and stopped, unsatisfied with her explanation.

She already felt guilty about not noticing she could've been pregnant and she was even more embarrassed to look like a frazzled, neglectful mom in front of Miss Viv, who, Michonne knew, was a great mother.

Rick spoke up for her, "We just realized what the situation was a week ago. Michonne's been kinda beatin' herself up about takin' so long to make her first doctor's appointment." he smiled sympathetically at his girl.

"Oh no!" Miss Viv pardoned her with a motherly expression. "Honey, I knew a woman who didn't know she was pregnant until she came to the ER with back pain and left a day later with a baby in her arms. It happens more than you might think."

"But I was still taking my birth control," Michonne confessed and added in a murmur, "now and then." Miss Viv giggled discreetly as she realized this baby they were expecting was far from expected. Michonne leaned forward urgently, "Couldn't that hurt the baby?"

"What pill were you on Mimi?"

"Umm. Errin. I think."

"Progestin only." Miss Viv made a note in her file. "There really isn't any link between birth control pills and complications in pregnancy. So, don't worry about that."

"Tha's all she does is worry." Rick tattled. "Tell 'er to stop."

"Shut up, Rick." MIchonne rolled her eyes. "I'm worried because I've been messing up a lot on this already." She addressed the midwife, "I wasn't even going to bring him until I knew everything was okay."

"You didn't tell me that, "Chonne." Rick looked hurt by the news. "Why?"

She turned to him, ashamed of her fears and the legitimate blunders she had already marked on her personal mom report card. "I didn't want you to be disappointed in me for doing this wrong. I got drunk, the birth control... You know I love seafood and I read that shellfish was bad for the baby. All those times I got crab legs and shrimp at Red Lobster." Michonne shook her head, sounding agitated as she rattled off all her "criminal misdeeds". "I'm not supposed to eat unwashed produce, but I always taste-test grapes and cherries at the grocery store! What if they say the baby has two heads because of me?"

Rick looked at her, then back to Miss Viv, who was giggling this time about the faulty reasoning behind Michonne's panic. Rick leaned an elbow on his knee trying to look up into Michonne's downcast face, her head heavy with all the disgrace she was heaping on her own shoulders. Rick was insulted that she thought of him that way, like an accuser bent on condemning her. When the truth was he was so proud of her sometimes it threatened to explode his heart.

"One thing we don't do here is negative thoughts. We stay positive. We don't dwell on perceived short-comings, we focus on our strengths." The kindly midwife spoke with a comforting kind of power that made Michonne feel more relaxed. Miss Viv came in for damage control as she was wont to do in this role. It was superhero work and it was not limited to mom and the baby she carried. It included supporting the significant other, too. "Don't be upset Rick. Women get a lot of pressure to be perfect mothers." She looked at Michonne and stressed, "Even though there's no such thing." She tried to console him, "Don't take it personal. Even though she felt that way, in the end, she brought you. Right, Mimi?" She gave the frantic mother-to-be the stage.

"Yeah. I thought about coming without you. But I realized I wanted this to be me and you, from the beginning... just like our videos. Me and you." Michonne reached for his hand, her eyes trained on their locking fingers.

His hand, the color of an apricot sunrise after a night of rain under her hand, the color of wet soil where things grow with help from the never-ending love of the sky. The ring he'd had for months before he gave it to her was sitting on display and she squeezed his hand in hopeful solidarity.

Rick felt bad about giving her grief over her videos, though he still didn't love the idea of them being released for public consumption, he never wanted her to feel like he didn't support her. He let go of his initial frustration with her thoughts and kissed her hand. His eyes burned a cold deep blue that always spoke to his sincerity.

"Good. So let's do this together and don't be thinkin' 'bout disappointin' me. That ain't fair, 'Chonne. You got everythang on you right now. That's hard for me, not bein' able to help you more... just bein' a glorified tissue dispenser." Michonne gave him a hiss of quiet laughter and peeked bashfully at Miss Viv as Rick went on, "I'm proud of you. I thought I was the luckiest man in the world, but this kid is luckier than me, cuz there'll never be a point in his life where he didn't know you."

The older woman on the other side of the table reminisced about her late husband and she had a flashback of her own life-changing romance. She could feel her dearly departed Winston in Rick's tone. "I didn't think it was possible since the last time I saw you two, but I swear you're even cuter than I remember."

Rick blushed at those words as Michonne tried to absorb all the love in what he'd said to her. The way he cherished her was still amazing to her and if she deserved it, she didn't know how.

. . . .

Rick and Miss Viv left Michonne to her thoughts as he regaled the professional with the story of how Michonne had finally found the perfect wedding dress.

She, Maggie and Andrea had played hooky from work for three days and scoured every place imaginable like a Navy SEAL team hunting for a hard target official. Michonne proudly dubbed the look she'd secured as _"Ms.-Jackson-if-you're-Nasty Chic"_. Then she found out she'd be at least five months pregnant on her wedding day and there would be no way the curve-hugging fabric would fit over her bump. Rick thought he'd have to resuscitate her.

He related how he had nonchalantly asked her what she was going to do for a dress now and the look on Michonne's face was priceless when she realized the tragedy of wasting that gorgeous gown. At the time he really felt bad for his fiancé. He could only laugh about it now because Michonne being Michonne, never gave in to circumstances and never gave up. When things went wrong she just refused to go with them. When the perfect dress would no longer be perfect for the wedding she made it the perfect dress for something else.

She could do that. It was another one of her talents. It was how she still raved about Rick's proposal, though it hadn't gone as planned. It was how she still enjoyed her Thanksgiving with her "white son" M.I.A. It was how she made it through her best friend and brother's break up until they got back together. It was how she still believed that Rick and Shane would be friends one day.

And as Rick told the "wedding dress story", what he couldn't tell their friend, the midwife, was how Michonne turned that tragedy into a fantasy, how he'd come home from work to an empty house, how he'd eyed the garment bag on their bed suspiciously as he read the note attached:

 _~Cum catch your Runaway Bride~_

The note was on stationary from the Ritz-Carlton and the garment bag contained a tailored tuxedo that he was sure he'd never seen before. A quick shower and change later, he was bounding through the doors of the designated hotel. He was heading for the front desk when he spotted her across the room, eyeing him over her shoulder, sitting in a wine-colored slipper chair.

She was easy to spot, even in the crowded lobby. Her dark skin, spicy and warm, against the wintry white of her open-back dress. Rick glimpsed her profile under the moody, sleep-inducing lighting in the hotel. He bypassed the reception desk, walking more slowly with her in his searing sapphire sights.

Michonne turned her head, pretending not to see him. She blew a big pink bubble from her puckered lips and stood up when she saw the arrow lit up, announcing the coming elevator. She slunk over to the elevator bank. The hour-glass shape of her body and the pendulum sway of her stroll, ironically, made time stand still as every man she passed stopped on a double-take of her suffocating beauty. Rick followed her across the patterned gold and burgundy carpet piles and as he made his way into her wake, the clean rosy scent she left behind almost buckled his knees.

He called out her name, the formation of it on his tongue made him hungry for the taste of the woman to whom the name belonged. Michonne didn't turn around, instead she twirled one of the locs falling past her shoulders from her high pony around her finger while she waited for the passengers to clear the car. She stepped just out of his reach as the elevator began to slide closed and the door came to a jolting halt when the sensor acknowledged Rick's strong hand pulling the door back open to join her.

She looked up at him now, smiling, like she hadn't just ignored him calling her name. The beams from her face traversed the small space between them like she had just fallen in love with everything about him in that moment. "Hi, Rick." she said in a smoky voice with opiate eyes.

"Hey." he answered her back, standing before her as the elevator passed one floor then another. She was breath-taking in that dress.

From the front, the structured shoulder gave her an almost alien-vibe. The low-cut V neck exposed the rich skin across her chest and the path between her breasts where Rick's tongue and teeth liked to lick and nip. But the most dangerous detail of the design were the slits that began high above her knee. The skirt of her dress hugged her hips then billowed and wept, falling like tears, pooling around her jewel-encrusted Badgley Mischka T-strap heels.

"What are you doing here?" She chewed her gum discreetly and regarded him strangely as if she honestly didn't know.

Rick took a step closer to her. Now close enough to touch her and he did. Setting the pads of his fingers free to graze softly up her easily reached thighs. Michonne's breath hitched as her belly surged with a savage tremor that left the thin mesh of her panties inundated with her desire.

"Came to catch my runaway bride." Rick confessed as one hand slid around her thigh and with the other a whisper of his index finger slid over the damp material of her underwear, causing Michonne to place a hand to the consolidated muscles of his chest and lean her back against the cold brassy wall catching their reflections.

"Yeah?" She closed her eyes and let out a moan. The corner of her mouth drifting up into a satisfied grin that Rick was obediently there. In a hotel elevator and bow tie, after a long day of work, for no other reason than her meager suggestion that he would end his journey inside her. She stretched out the seconds, blowing out another bubble as the tip of his finger rested up against her dripping entrance. He didn't rub her or stroke her. He just left his finger resting there, as if to mark the spot. "You gonna chase me, daddy?" She asked him seductively as she side-stepped him and went to the other end of the car.

Rick pushed his hand across his mouth as his dick reacted immediately to her words and that one word in particular. "You gonna run?" he said, his eyes smoking like dry ice.

"If you brought something for me to run from." she taunted him slipping out the door under the ding of the elevator, she resumed her hippy motion as she turned the corner down a hall with a single door at the end. Room 905. She stooped in the middle of the corridor to pull her panties down from under her dress. Michonne looked back at him with her brown eyes and a wicked smile.

Rick was right on her heels as she fumbled with the key card pushing his hard member against her backside. His palms splayed across her womb, he began to kiss her cheek and his soft lips paraded across her skin down her neck and across her shoulder. "Rick..." she sighed pushing back against him in earnest, too distracted to turn the door handle when the light on the lock turned green.

"You want somethin' to run from, huh?" He asked her, his voice husky from arousal. He began to loosen his belt. "Turn around and see if this is it." He commanded her. She did and was met with his engorged cock, nearly purple, he was painfully hard as his veins trailed, thick and sporadic, like bolts of lightning under his smooth skin. "Is that it?"

"Fuck me, Rick." was all she could say. '"Please, daddy." she said looking into his eyes, throwing her arms around his shoulders and a leg around his hip in the threshold of 905. Her mouth fell open and her eyes rolled back as he filled her to the hilt on his dick. She was pinned against the uncomfortable hardness of the door and the unyielding hardness of Rick's body. His mouth covered hers to muffle the sounds he knew he was about to elicit from her diaphragm. Their tongues wrestled fiercely as he began to bounce her hard over his stiff shaft.

In the few weeks that Michonne had purchased her dress, she had already gained a few pounds. The stitching at her thighs broke and gave way as Rick pushed her legs wider to contain his yawning girth inside her gripping, tight pussy. He kept barreling into her, creating a rattling rhythm against the locked door with his toe-curling thrusts.

The jangle of his belt buckle clacking just under her wet, slicked ass added to the symphony of their unbridled passion. He swallowed down her watermelon-flavored gum as he started to reach his peak. He moved to press his warm tongue to her chest, licking up, then over to her breast, that was all but falling out of her dress from his urgent jostling of her small frame.

Rick felt his feet go numb and he held Michonne higher, using just the thick capped tip of his dick to tease her g-spot over and over again. Her fingers pulled at his hair as she whimpered for more of him while relishing the increasing tingle he produced each time his meaty head swiped against that inner bundle of sensitive nerves.

"Cum for me now, Michonne. Right fuckin' now." He demanded, pushing her thighs up and open even more. "Right fuckin' now." he repeated, his humid bubble gum-flavored breath coming sharply in huffs to her ear. "Right fuckin' now, baby." he kept on repeating, even though she was already spilling over the edge, gripping him with her convulsing walls. He went back to ramming her deep, as she came and his contact with her cervix made her groan in his arms as her climax heightened and stole all coherent thought from her brain.

. . . .

She remembered the state of that dress once he let her down from his hold and Michonne puffed a superficial chuckle, only half listening to Rick tell the PG version of his favorite pregnancy story thus far. Her mind was on the man himself. While he told _that_ story, his voice told another. The story of how enchanted he was with her. Michonne had never heard it before. Though the tingle of his eyes on her was routine, she never heard him sound so fascinated with all her idiosyncrasies and compulsions.

As he talked about her crazy requests for piddling concerns, he sounded like he was describing service to a higher power, something he'd given his life to. He'd given his life to late night runs to 7-11 for a raspberry and lemonade Slurpee in the dead of winter. He'd given his whole life to her collection of stilettos and the ridiculousness of a new pair and the inevitable foot rubs after a long day of being tortured by the impractical footwear.

His drawl congealed on his tongue as he joked about all the things he called her crazy for, but his inflection named them all precious in the company of their resurfaced friend- a woman Michonne knew Rick admired greatly.

Michonne watched him as his Adam's apple bounced in his throat on a chuckle at his account of her attitude toward Carl's premonition that motherhood would lump her in with Rick's off-center shots at being cool.

Her high-schooler had actually hurt her vulnerable, hormonal feelings with that comment, but looking at Rick, now, she'd dive headfirst into that category.

Could she ever be as cool as Rick?

Carl was truly a kid, Michonne thought. There was never a man cooler. She'd never seen a man with more swagger, not in real life or even those rom-coms she knew by heart.

The crisp collar of his white dress shirt gleaming under the precisely edged scruff on his chin. The tie at his neck resting on the swell of his hard wide chest. The pointed tip of the silk accessory acting like a road sign to guide her eyes below his belt to his trim toned thighs and that dormant curve between his legs. His cock resting like a sleeping giant, sill formidable without a hint of arousal. Fighting with that thing through a blow job was like climbing Everest and suddenly she went light-headed as if she were admiring him from the height of the elevation. She licked her lips and remembered a question she had for her CNM.

"I want to know one other thing, Miss Viv." She interrupted their conversation. "It's about sex..."

Rick's eyes went big and Miss Viv took notice and held in a laugh. "Sex is fine... even encouraged, unless, it's uncomfortable. Just communicate with each other." Rick looked relieved and hopeful that there was nothing more to be discussed on the subject.

"We do a lot of communicating. But I want to know about... like... swallowing..." she tilted her head in the direction of his crotch. "Should I stop doing that?

"Michonne!" Rick protested through an embarrassed groan.

"Rick, Viv has 4 kids, she knows about oral sex!" Michonne sighed, not seeing the big deal.

Rick answered the question himself, "You don't have to bring that up, you can just stop doing it." He turned to the question's intended recipient, "You don't have to answer that, Viv. It's not a big deal.

"It is for me!" Michonne corrected. "The way you say my name when I..." She pressed her fingers to her plump lips. "I don't wanna stop doing that. I hope I don't have to?" She looked to Viv eagerly. "Do I? Is that bad for the baby?

"Jesus." Rick's face fell into his hands, mortified at Michonnes indelicate questions.

Miss Viv kept them in suspense for a few seconds stifling her laughter at the adorable pair. She just stared at them smiling with her lips pulled into her mouth to keep from blurting out in laughter. "This is gonna be so much fun."

Vivian assured Michonne that, if they were both free of STI's and monogamous, ingesting his sperm would be fine. Michonne asked all the questions she had and after she googled a few more questions to ask at your first OB visit -and after Miss Viv caught her breath laughing at the pair -Viv started the physical exam.

She moved Michonne to the bed in the room. Rick sat in a chair near his fiancé's head and Vivian stood over her preparing to listen to the heart beat and measure her belly. After being virtually flat last week her abdomen was just forming a small bump easily hidden by her clothes but very exciting to see when she undressed.

"So when do we get the ultrasound pictures?" Michonne asked excitedly as she laid back.

"Oh Mimi. We don't have that equipment here. Again, we try to avoid heavy machinery as much as possible." She said as she dried her hands and pulled a long strip of measuring tape from a drawer. "But you'll be able to hear your baby today."

Michonne was disappointed. She looked to Rick and pouted with a frown. He tried to find a way to get her what she wanted, "Michonne, really had her heart set on love at first _sight_. What if we went somewhere else just for that?"

"I understand. People do that, sometimes. You can go to the Imaging department at the hospital." She pressed around Michonne's tummy with a firm hand, looking off at the wall concentrating on the tactile examination. "I'll see if I can pull some strings to get you in today. Diamond's over there with her dad." She placed the tip of the tape right at her pubic bone and measured her belly vertically.

"What's wrong?" Rick jumped in agitation, snapping Michonne from her view of the ceiling. He noticed the confused look on the CNM's face as she read the measurement.

"Hmm. Nothing's wrong, Rick. I didn't mean to alarm you. Mimi are you sure about your last period?"

"Yeah. Pretty sure."

"Ok. Let's hear this little one's heart song." She squeezed out warm blue gel onto Michonne's abdomen and grabbed the handheld fetal Doppler and dropped the probe into the gob of jelly.

A static-y whooshing sound broke into the room. Mrs. Malcolm slid the wand through the slippery substance up Michonne's middle and an unmistakable steady beat came through the crackle of the speaker like thick thighs wrapped in corduroy briskly walking.

"That's it, right?" Michonne gasped with both hands covering her mouth.

She'd heard a fetal heartbeat many times, from the videos on YouTube to A.J. to Ali to Duke to Annabelle. This time though, it was coming from her own body.

It was coming from the flesh and blood manifestation of Rick's heated love for her, from her gaping acceptance of everything he wanted to give her.

It was coming from her need of a vice and her discovery of virtue.

It was coming from the creation of six months of late night conversations where hidden hurt was drawn out of her like full buckets from a well. All the contaminated waters of her soul being removed and replaced by the crystal-clear torrent of his voice- sweet and warm, strong and cool, honest and surreal- saying _forever_. There was a forever and now Michonne heard it.

Rick was too overcome to shed a tear. His eyes were shining with moisture, but no tears fell. It hit him squarely in the chest. He regretted missing this with Carl and his own heart felt frail wishing his son was there right now. Wanting him to be with them always. Rick wanted to kiss the top of his crown draped with those long strands.

He leaned over Michonne kissing his forehead to hers and bringing his meat hooks to caress her cheek. Those same hands that made men bleed. Those same hands that made her cum. Those same hands that, in a few months' time, will hold the child she was so benevolently gifting him. Those same hands that pulled her by the neck, now, to press his lips gently to the corner of her mouth, to her temple, to her closed eyes.

"Thank you, 'Chonne. Thank you." He held her hand, unable to stop kissing it.

Michonne laughed hysterically, the jerking compression of her abs throwing off the echo of sound coming from the monitor. "Sorry." She apologized to the midwife, whose lips quivered with emotion, for disrupting her task. "It's like music!" She giggled. "It sounds like music, doesn't it?"

Vivian smiled sweetly, "It does." She agreed, recognizing the extra blessing she heard in the jumbled beat. "It's a duet."

* * *

 **A/N: The baby is BABIES! (I couldn't resist)**

 **Now, Let's have some fun-**

 **Suggestions on gender(s) and baby names in your reviews please!**


	28. Chapter 28

"Duet means two." Rick said in an almost corrective tone to Miss Viv, as if there must be some mistake.

"Brains and brawn..." the mid-wife said sarcastically. " _I_ know what it means. The question is: Do _you_ two know what it means?"

"I'm having twins?" Michonne's face fell as the unbelievable words left her mouth. She turned to Rick with a slack-jawed gaze as Miss Viv wiped her belly clean of the clear blue goo. She couldn't resist teasing him, "You put _two_ babies in me and _I'm_ the one who goes overboard?"

"Hold on." He shrank an eye at the midwife, "Are you talkin' 'bout twins?" he asked as if the women in the room were speaking another language.

"Babe, are you okay?" Michonne giggled with a hint of concern in her amusement.

Miss Viv turned to the side table by the bed and spoke to Rick sternly with her nose in a drawer as she pushed the contents aside, "Yes, Rick. A set! A pair! Two _whole_ babies!" She found a lollipop in the drawer. "Pull yourself together, grown man!" She directed him, tossing the sucker to him casually, winking to a grinning Michonne. "Have some candy."

Catching the treat against his chest he repeated in an undertone, "Twins." He unwrapped the candy and popped it in his mouth, the little white stem sitting in the corner of his lips. He rubbed his forehead, staring at the fetal Doppler, as Vivian sanitized it, like he was waiting for a voice to come from its speaker to tell him _how_ he'd done it.

"I haven't watched a single YouTube video about carrying twins!" Michonne suddenly realized as she sat up on the bed. She shook her head at all the time she'd spent and _wasted,_ absorbing information on a canceled experience.

Rick plopped next to her on the bed. His cheeks rounded with the slow forced exhale of a man who'd come quite some ways. He bit the side of his bottom lip trying to restrain the cocky smile that would betray how impressed he was with himself. With his eyes darting blankly from one random place in the room to another, he repeated, "Twins."

. . . .

The first emotion Rick felt when he figured Michonne was pregnant was pride... that he was the first to know.

Then he felt that pride fizzle as he realized he was the fourth to know. Including Deanna, who called Michonne every day to see if Rick had cracked the code to her little 'baby pictures game'. The warmhearted handler was itching to congratulate Rick and explain some do's and don'ts that, as well as he knew Michonne, Deanna knew only a woman could impart.

Then he felt like he was on the right side of his aspirations as he imagined doing everything right this time around, from the beginning. Whenever he caught a glimpse of his reflection, he had thoughts of redemption in this sequel to fatherhood.

As he'd gotten ready for their appointment, he found a bit of humor in the way Michonne monopolized his entire morning and he imagined how much worse it would be if they had a little girl just like her. He welcomed the tremor in his heart that told him that was just what he wanted... and if not that, a little boy to help even the playing field against Michonne's triple sized endowment of girl power.

Like Miss Viv had chanted after the discovery of two heartbeats, Rick felt like Hercules. _Nice work, boys_. He'd mentally congratulated his microscopic swimmers. And then she told them that a double birth would be better handled at a fully equipped medical center and he felt like someone pulled the rug from under him just when he was starting to get his footing.

In the span of a few hours, Rick had gone from jeans to dress shirt, striped tie to a Moroccan print, from an obstetrician to midwife, gypsies to old friends, from one baby to twins and now from midwife back to an obstetrician.

. . . .

Michonne seemed unfazed as she sat in the passenger seat of his SUV. Rick thought maybe it was the constant shuffle of her upbringing that kept her rolling with the punches today, but he did not enjoy change. When he'd moved into the city, he seriously contemplated getting high with Daryl after a full week of commuting in traffic. He pulled into the hospital parking lot and wished he had a drink, at the very least, to settle him.

Vivian Malcolm easily persuaded her son, Dr. Gabriel Stokes to skip his lunch break to see her friends and while the doctor prepped for their visit and consulted his mother on her recommendations, the couple got their first peek at the twins.

Rick stood next to Michonne in the dark room, recording the moment as Stokes' daughter, Diamond, smiled with deep dimples and clicked the cursor and clacked the keys on the ultrasound machine, quietly taking measurements.

Michonne checked to see if the angle and focus of his camera lens was cinematic enough for her taste. She took control of the camera to switch the orientation from portrait to landscape for her green co-director and added a filter that looked like gold stardust floating in the air. The twinkling effect over the shaded scene enchanted the moment.

Rick looked at her stunned as she returned the phone to him. He smiled at how Michonne could take the most special moments to a whole new level of magic before he could even bat an eye. She'd done the same thing with his life. She was doing the same thing with their family. It was the "black girl magic" she liked to refer to. She had Rick believing that it was more than just a t-shirt slogan.

He resumed recording the sonogram's black screen as swirls and streaks of blue and white made more defined shapes. The well-spoken med student pointed out those 12-week-old treasures nestled in the most sacred place on earth and said the twins were about the size of little limes; strong, thriving and set to make their appearance in June.

"So, here's your first little occupant here." Diamond said to the expectant pair as she traced a circular outline with the cursor of the machine's mouse. The crescent form of a baby, with skinny legs and arms that seemed to extend above a potbelly like an out of shape prize fighter took over the screen, "Now I can't tell gender yet, but I like to have a little fun with the parents, instead of saying Twin A and Twin B, what I normally do is, ask: mom, what's your favorite food?"

Rick looked a Michonne knowingly and they both shared a private chuckle, "If you would have asked me a few weeks ago I would've told you peanut butter chocolate bombs. But lately," she looked embarrassed to say, "I've been putting away whole jars of sweet relish." Diamond's expression went queasy and Michonne covered her face, "I know! I feel so gross. But it's so good!"

"Okay, that might be the weirdest answer I've ever gotten." the young woman said dryly after pausing with a blank stare. "But I won't judge you. I will just say: don't be so cliché, Mimi. If you tell me anything about eating ice cream with your jar of relish, I..."

"Ew! Gross! No! I will puke right here! Don't even!" Michonne chuckled.

Diamond looked to Rick with a scheming eye as if to instruct him to keep an eye on his wife-to-be in case she was secretly mixing dairy with her pickled treat and he nodded conspiratorially with a playful grin.

"Okay, what about you, baby daddy? What's your favorite thing to eat?" Rick tilted his head, ever so slightly, in Michonne's direction as an inside joke. She was in fact his favorite thing to eat. Of course, that was the limit of his impropriety- alluding to anything so private in the company of a health care professional and he flustered when Michonne wasn't the only one in the room to catch his drift. "I saw that Mr. Grimes! You are bad!" Diamond chuckled with Michonne as Rick turned red, "I thought he always said you were the naughty one, Mimi?"

"I know, right, Diamond?" Michonne played along, making Rick even more embarrassed, "I gotta pull him back to the boat. He's a little overboard right now." The little room was loud with laughter, like the rec center had been on their first date as the mother-to-be gave her waggish miscreant a punitive pluck to the knuckle.

"What's his favorite food? Since he wants to be nasty, you tell me, Mimi." Diamond chastised Rick as he attempted to make excuses through his laughter.

"His favorite is steak. Exactly what you'd expect for a cowboy." Though he'd never expressly told Michonne that was his favorite, he raised an agreeable brow that there was nothing better than a juicy T-bone in the middle of a plate.

"Okay." Diamond said decidedly, "This one is Relish." She typed over the first baby's image, still crinkling her nose at Michonne's admitted favorite food. "Aaaand..." she rolled the wand over her small belly to display the next free-floating fetus, "this one, we... will... call... S-T-E-A-K." Diamond spelled while hitting each corresponding key. "And look at Steak moving around in there. Bad. Like somebody else I know." They all giggled.

"How come I can see Steak moving but I don't feel anything yet?" Michonne asked Diamond realizing she had yet to identify a single flutter.

"Well your babies are so small; and this is your first pregnancy. So, the movement may not be noticeable yet or maybe since you've never felt fetal movements, you're mistaking them for gas. But sometimes women say that once they get a visual of their babies they start to feel kicks and flips. Sometimes if you're still and quiet you can feel a little something. But don't be upset if you don't, Mimi. Believe me, I've heard enough mothers complain that they wish their baby would stop moving so much. Those days will be here before you know it."

. . . .

Rick had been saying silent little prayers that everything would be okay with the babies, with Michonne. Now that his prayers had been answered, Rick had quieted down considerably from his loquacious manner at the birthing center. All the unknown factors that had him nervous before had been put to rest. Despite his bowlegged stance, he finally felt his balance return with the contentment that Michonne was happy and she'd stay that way for the foreseeable future.

And Rick finally felt relieved and ready with all the information available.

His mind at ease, his brain got back to work regulating his breathing. He hadn't even noticed he'd been holding his breath. His brain leveled out his heart rate and blood pressure which must have accounted for the slight dizziness he was experiencing all morning. His brain let him now focus on Dr. Gabriel Stokes. Rick's full senses came back like a man emerging from the disorienting effects of diving.

The caramel-colored man smiled wide showing a full set of straight white teeth between the smooth lines of his lips embraced by a neatly barbered goatee and mustache. Rick noticed that the good doctor's chin hairs were sable compared to his nearly white beard. He could tell he and the man in the bleached lab coat were about the same age. But where Rick's eyes crinkled and his forehead creased when he smiled, he could find not so much as a hint of a coming wrinkle on the face of the man with a wall full of certificates and degrees as his back drop.

Michonne and Sasha's familiar proverb "Black don't crack" came to mind and he suddenly felt that every healed nick or bruise he'd ever sustained in a fight was highlighted. There was a warm twinkle in Dr. Stoke's eye as he took in Michonne and Rick thumbed a cut over his eye that had been particularly gruesome when he'd first earned it in a scuffle bouncing at a club. He quickly licked his lips and combed his fingers through his dark mane strategically trying to hide the streaks of gray that were multiplying across his crown.

And now, of all the feelings the circumstances of this pregnancy had stirred, Rick was jolted by the strange feeling of jealousy. It was an unusual sensation for Rick. There weren't too many men he saw as actual competition. Mike's insignificance had been the most extraordinary thing about him. T-Dog had a coolness about him, but Rick knew, appearance-wise, he wasn't Michonne's type. Jesus' sexual orientation kept Rick fairly at ease, but the hugs between his woman and her favorite cook were still looking a tad iffy for Rick's territorial alpha male sensibilities.

Gabriel was smooth, though. Rick was happy, for the first time today, that Michonne insisted he have a more polished look. He sat up a little straighter in case she was making comparisons. He extended his hand to sweep casually, but possessively, over the inside of her silk-covered knee.

"I know how that goes." Rick heard the doctor say as he steered himself back into the animated conversation the man was having with his radiant queen. "I was a 'jump the gun' baby myself."

"Really?" Michonne sat up in her seat, clearly tickled and fully engaging the other man's conversation. "Is that why your last name is different from your mom's?"

Gabe nodded, "Daddy went into the service toward the end of 'Nam. He wanted to get momma a house with a VA loan before they tied the knot. But they messed around and got pregnant with me when he was on leave. Granddad wouldn't let them get married, baby or not, 'til his daughter had a roof over her head. So, I got her maiden name." Gabriel chuckled, "Momma was frisky."

" _Was_ frisky?" Michonne questioned and Doctor Stokes agreed that his mother was still quite the vamp with a hearty laugh.

"That's why I have to stay on Diamond all the time and it doesn't help that her and her grandma are so close. But I can't really complain too much. Ol' Vivian Malcolm is a good woman. Being raised by a good woman makes them easy to spot." Gabe said turning his pen over and over hypnotically between his fingers as he looked Michonne up and down.

"Like Diamond's mother?" Rick interrupted. He assumed that Gabriel was forgetting his significant other and even more foolishly, the presence of Rick Grimes, in the face of Michonne's beauty.

"Yes. Diamond's mother is definitely a good woman. Too good for the boy I was when we had my baby girl. That's why we never got married." Gabriel said in a voice that almost sounded like the tick on a scorecard. "You know how it is when you're young, but I'm older and wiser now. When you get our age, you want to settle down with a special lady." Gabriel gave another suspicious glance to Michonne. "That's your plan. Right, Rick?"

Rick didn't like the use of the word "plan" as if marrying Michonne was something that could be postponed or altered. "Oh, it's more than a plan. It's what I'm gonna do."

"Life is full of surprises, though, isn't it? I'm sure you've had more than enough examples of that truth for one day. Hmm?"

Gabriel looked at Rick still smiling through what Rick took as an intense and aggressive stare. Rick wasn't sure if he was being subliminal with that comment. He felt like the doctor was challenging him and the more Rick tried to think rationally, the more he realized that it wasn't a question of _if_ Gabe was flirting with the beautiful woman beside him but _when_ the two of them would have to butt heads like bucks in the wild.

. . . .

After they'd left Dr. Stokes office, the couple in the midst of two life changes embarked on a third when they went to see Rick's realtor, Jessie Anderson.

He knew the mild-mannered blonde since high school. She was a rookie in her field when he threw her a bone and hired her to find a house for he and his first wife. Since then Jessie had helped Lori find the large colonial where she and Carl moved after the divorce. She quickly found renters for Rick when he decided to move in with Michonne and now the shrewd real estate agent was called into service again.

Carl's visits had become more frequent when Michonne began to consider moving to a bigger place. At that time, they were only looking for another condo with one extra bedroom. Now they had a deadline and the need for double the space.

Jessie's friendly, professional demeanor made Michonne optimistic that her growing family would be settled in their dream home well before the babies arrived. She was optimistic, but especially amused at Jessie's obvious crush on her man. Michonne could see the envy in the blonde's, ironically, green eyes as she congratulated them both on their upcoming nuptials.

She looked like the wind had been knocked out of her when they told her about the twins and Michonne could see Jessie had more than a crush. But she recovered quickly, taking down all Michonne's must-haves for a house. Jessie eyed Rick for any objections as her list got longer and longer, but his only reaction was an incredulous smirk at the request that the 23-item list be delivered in a place with a ten minute or less commute to her job.

When Michonne stepped out of Jessie's office to take a call from Shane, she took the opportunity to speak to Rick alone.

"Quite a list here, huh?" she said, holding the legal notepad up and bouncing it in the air as though she were measuring its weight.

"Yeah. Michonne can be... excessive." Rick commented, looking down at a few area listings that were on the table.

"You and I have done this before, Rick. You know she's not going to find everything she's looking for. So, do me a favor and try to... modify her expectations. She seems a little high-strung."

"She's just excited."

"Yeah I guess. A lot of big things are happening. I can't believe you're getting married and having babies. What changed your mind about dating?"

"What do you mean?" He said smiling as Michonne leaned against the wall outside Jessie's office. She eyed Rick, mesmerizing him with her sexy, furtive smile. It was hard for him to take his eyes off the woman. He was stealing glances through the big window of the office door and dropped is head, nearly reverent, when she threw her head back and laughed at whatever her brother was saying. He made an effort against rudeness, struggling to give his attention back to Jessie.

"I mean when we went out those few times, you said you realized you just weren't ready to date... even though you and Lori had been divorced for years." she said sounding a little bitter and Rick finally picked up on it.

"I guess the pretty lady outside your door changed my mind." he said as delicately as he could with his best attempt at a friendly smile. Jessie cut her eyes to Michonne and raised a brow to Rick.

Michonne was trying to be quiet but her excitement was bubbling in her heart. "I can't believe you two! I'm so happy for you guys!" She said, turning her back to Rick so he wouldn't see her tears and come running. "Let us take you out to dinner tonight... celebrate... since you cheated me out of a reason to buy a dress and interrupt your vows with a full-on ugly, snotty cry." She said to Shane as she began to sink into the kind of emotional display she was describing.

Meanwhile, in the office with Jessie, Rick moved to change the subject. "Hey, how are your boys?

"They're boys." she said. "How's Carl?"

"Carl's doin' great."

"Yeah? How does _he_ feel about all of this?" She returned to the topic she wanted to discuss. Her tone suggesting that he might be diving headlong into something without considering how his son would feel.

Rick tried not to let the implications annoy him. "Carl loves 'er. I think he's still kinda shocked that his old man has such a cool fiancé. She can speak teenager, so she's the MVP in the house."

"Maybe she can teach me some teenager lingo." Jessie said with a roll of her eyes, just thinking of how exhausting her sons were.

"I ain't seen Carl this excited in years." Rick said realizing how true that was and how grateful he was to Michonne for it. "He even picked out her ring."

"He has good taste." She said, genuinely impressed at the young man's choice. She had noticed the sparkly token right away. "And Lori? How's she taking all of this? You and I went out twice and I saw another side of her."

"Nope. Lori's only got one side. People just don't pay attention to it." The words left his mouth before he could reign them in. He made a real effort to keep his thoughts about Lori to himself, but this slipped. Michonne's mouthiness was rubbing off on him. He closed his eyes with compunction and a self-conscious twitch. "Sorry. I didn't mean..."

Jessie chuckled at the uncharacteristic comment from Rick. "No. That's okay."

She thought about his ex-wife's attitude and realized, in this situation, Lori was probably being more than a pain in the neck. She didn't want to add to his irritation by bringing the thought of her to his mind on a day when she could see he was so happy. Jessie realized now that she still had the same feelings she'd always had for Rick. But as much as she wanted to be the woman on his arm, in her heart, she was happy for him. He deserved it.

She gave him a sincere apology, " _I'm_ sorry for bringing her up. I gotta admit it, Rick. You seem... lighter. You're wearing a very goofy grin on that handsome face." She pointed at him with the tip of her pin. "I've known you and Lori a long time now. This is the first time I've seen you in love. It suits you... but then so does brooding." She laughed. "But for the record, I like the goofy grin better."

"It's the first time I've ever felt this way about anybody. No offense."

She waved off his comment with a shrug. "I just wasn't _it_ for you. I get it. But I'm glad you found her. Now..." She said exhaling as she lifted the first page of Michonne's wish list to the second page where her requests got even more absurd, "hopefully, I will be able to find a house with a stripper pole in the bedroom."

Rick chuckled at Jessie's sarcastic ribbing of Michonne's uninhibited instructions, "Hey, she said ceilin's low enough to _install_ a stripper pole." he accurately quoted his girl. "Our ceilin's are too high in the condo..."

Rick was interrupted by Michonne's return to the room. "Everythang good?" He asked as he focused on her eyes and saw evidence of fresh tears. He jumped to his feet, ready to pull her close.

"Everything's lovely." She said in a happy, dreamy voice. "Bubba and Blondie got married this morning at the courthouse. They didn't tell anybody." Rick was genuinely happy for Shane and Andrea, but if he was honest, the best thing about the news was Michonne's smile. "That's my brother and my best friend." Michonne explained to Jessie. "They suck." she joked dryly.

After a bit more small talk, they all scoured their schedules for a day to look at houses together. With their next meeting set, Rick thanked Jessie and left his lady in the lobby while he went out to warm up the truck for her. Michonne went back to the agent's office and knocked softly at her open door before stepping in.

Jessie looked up from her desk and returned Michonne's smile with questioning eyes. She found herself marveling at Michonne's beauty as she reclaimed the seat in front of her desk. "Hey, you want to add something else to your wish list?" she diverted with a joke and Michonne chuckled.

"No. Not at the moment." the dark-skinned angel smiled sweetly and blinked away the pity in her eyes. Michonne had been thinking about Andrea and how her best friend was gutted when Shane left Sasha's house with Lori. Everything worked out in the end, but Andrea had worn that pain like a black veil and every time Michonne looked at her, she couldn't see Blondie, all she could see was sadness.

Michonne got that feeling from Jessie when she and Rick walked out of her office hand in hand. The friendly small talk they'd shared told Michonne a lot about the woman. She was lonely. She was a doting single mother and, frankly, exhausted from doing it all on her own. A divorcee, Jessie had been through a pain that Michonne was now opening herself up to if Rick ever left her. She didn't think he ever would, but growing up in foster care, she knew - life can be a bitch. It certainly had been to Jessie. And to top it all off, she falls in love with Rick Grimes- like any woman would- gets a shot at him and then couldn't close the deal. _That's rough_.

Michonne could feel a tightness in her throat as sympathy for the woman's utter misfortune came in like the tide in her heart. She didn't want to come off as gloating or condescending, but she just couldn't leave without saying... something. This may have been a case when Rick would have said 'Mind your business 'Chonne.' _Too bad, so sad. He's not here to stop me,_ she thought as she regarded the pretty lady in the smart navy-blue suit.

"Jessie, I just want to say thank you again for your help and patience. My other best friend, Maggie, says I can be a bit much when my imagination and dreams are involved. But this _is_ like a dream for me... I keep expecting to wake up" her voice broke over the honesty, "and find myself a kid again, without..." Michonne shook her head to drive away her tears and remind herself that this wasn't about her. Her intention was to offer a little salve to Jessie's heart.

But as she tried to push the words up and pass her lips she realized, Jessie was her to some extent. Repeated rejection is a false prophet, but you still drink the kool-aid and buy into all the negative feelings, believing that you'll never be wanted or happy. Michonne knew how that affected you inside. Of course, Jessie's personality displayed her hurt differently but the turmoil inside was the same destructive force that betrays you in the end.

Jessie furrowed her brow, hoping she was understanding Michonne's sentiment. "Don't mention it, Michonne. It's my job to make your dreams come true." she said.

Michonne could tell that the words stung the blonde's tongue to speak them. She was marrying Rick, having his babies and now the woman who wanted him too had to work to make _more_ of Michonne's dreams come true? _That's brutal_.

"I just want to say you're a special woman to do this for us. I know it can't be easy." Her brown eyes pushed into Jessie's green ones knowingly and she could see that the other woman understood that Michonne _understood_. "Meeting Rick and falling in love like we did proved to me that he's my soulmate." She scoffed at the corniness of saying it out loud, coming from the mouth of the former 'self-contained entity'. "If I have a soulmate, everybody does, right?" she prodded.

Jessie just smiled through her dampening eyes. "It's a nice idea." she said skeptically, but no less appreciative of the words. "I can see why he loves you." she blurted. "At first sight, you two seem like total opposites. But you're not." Jessie acknowledged. "You're just like him. Impulsively kind." she said looking down at her papers. "I really wish you all the best... and all the walk-in closets and all the stripper poles..." They both shared a small chuckle before Michonne thanked her again and left.

Rick hopped from the driver's seat to open the SUV's passenger door for Michonne. She heard Jill Scott still singing 'He Loves Me' in the speakers and she looked at Rick with amusement at his new infatuation with the singer.

 _ **You woo me, you court me, you tease me, you please me**_  
 _ **You school me, give me some things to think about**_

She climbed into the toasty seat and watched him jog around the front of the car, illuminated by the headlights in the seasonal darkness of the early evening. When he took his place beside her, she took his hand in both of hers, snuggling the large chilled extremity into the warmth of her neck and peppering it with crimson-colored kisses.

"What's that for?" Rick wondered, enjoying the affection.

She drove her fingers up the back of his neck into the curls hanging from the dark gray cap on his head, massaging the nape of his neck. She kept his heavy hand under her lips and gifted him a dusky smile as the cabin light gradually grew dim. "You know what it's for. You know how I feel and how much I love you. You know me."

 _ **You love me especially different every time**_  
 _ **You keep me on my feet happily excited**_  
 _ **By your cologne, your hands, your smile, your intelligence**_

"I do." he nodded deep and definite.

Sitting across from Jessie granted Michonne some extra nudging to see more clearly and accept the good fortune she'd gotten in life and love. She was craving confirmation from the man responsible for it all. "Tell me." She purred, pulling his hand closer by his burly bicep as she settled her cheek in his palm. "Tell me about how it's your job to know things."

The smiling request surprised Rick, who was usually met with her rolling eyes whenever he said his favorite catchphrase. But even if this was the set up to one of her jokes, he wouldn't deny her anything. He smiled back. The romantic strings accompanying the heart-felt cantillating crested in the cab as she continued, "Tell me about how you know me, and you love me anyway. Tell me that you..."

"I know you, swee'heart. I know you." He moved his body to slouch comfortably on his side to look into her heartbreaking oak-colored eyes. "I know you're the only woman for me. I know who you are inside shines brighter than the makeup you wear..." he traced her jaw with his free hand, "or your jew'lry." He tapped the hoops in her ear and the golden fringe dangling from the circle swayed and glittered, catching any available light. "I know you make me insane and you do it on purpose." Michonne grinned. "You do it to see how much I love you... how much I'll put up with... what I'll give in to for you. And I don't mind."

 _ **Invite me, you ignite me, co-write me, you love me, you like me**_  
 _ **Incite me to chorus**_

"Sometimes you mind." she begged to differ.

"Well, sometimes you're ridiculous."

"Sometimes." she answered with a shrug. "But you still love me."

"I still do. I know you went back in there to say somethin' to Jessie behind my back." he charged with an abruptly comical tincture to his girl's surprise. "And I know whatever you said to her was as sweet as you are and probably made her day."

"I like her. She's cool."

"I know it's going to be a wild, wild ride 'til June with you, Relish and Steak." They both fractured at the silly sounding aliases. "I know you love my son, Michonne." Rick said, turning serious. "I can see how you look at him sometimes and I know you wish he was yours."

It was true. At times, Michonne was pissed that Lori had any claim to Carl. There were times when she couldn't resist kissing that face full of young Rick Grimes charm, despite his adamant teenage protests. She imagines his big eyes as a newborn or his cheeks, chubby as a toddler. She wishes she was there, that he was the same "white son" - with hair like Lori's but no trace of her DNA. It was impossible she knew, and it didn't make sense, even to her. But she had dreams the boy was hers.

"I know he is. He'd tell you the same thang if you asked him." Rick promised, and she closed her eyes while her bottom lip quivered as Rick's voice, weary from a long day, fondled her soul. "He's yours as much as he's mine. There's nothin' I got that don't belong to you."

 _ **La da da da da da da daaaaaaaaaah**_

"All I want is you and Carl and these babies." Michonne whispered and she considered his eyes, blue as a mountain range on a clear day.

Rick regarded her suspiciously, "No." he shook his head, disagreeing. "I know that's not true. Jessie's got a whole list in there of thangs you want." Michonne giggled. "I know you want all that stuff and I know that list will be longer before it's all said and done. And I know there ain't nothin' you want that I wouldn't kill myself to give you."

"Because you love me?" she asked again timidly, averting her eyes to the middle console between them, waiting for him to say yes.

"If I had to translate how I feel about you in the most monumentally understated terms... yes... because I fuckin' love you..." he smiled adoringly. "I love you. That's why, even though I'm tired as hell... been in these uncomfortable clothes all day... I'm going to dinner now with the rest of the glam squad and their trophy husbands."

Michonne jumped to kiss his lips and Rick kissed her back with the same enthusiasm. He rolled his eyes and sighed with a smile as he put the car in drive.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for all your baby name/gender suggestions. I still haven't decided, so if you haven't put your two cents in, it's not too late.**

 **-comewithnattah**


	29. Chapter 29

"Hey, you wanna come play with us?" A voice asked bluntly, as though she were being forced to say it.

Michonne looked up from where she sat on a low wall near the school playground, breaking her concentration on her dusty black British Knights sneakers kicking at a rock on the ground. A little white girl stood in front of her with blonde bangs, a french braid and a bedazzled jean jacket, waiting with a huff for her to respond. She looked past the girl with the invitation to the three other girls behind her.

A skinny dark-haired girl, with rosy cheeks, was smiling at her warmly, while the two other girls whispered to each other a few feet behind the second girl's tall, lanky frame. The third girl was just a shade lighter than Michonne with intricate beaded cornrows and the girl furthest from where Michonne sat wore glasses and a hijab around her chubby face. Michonne looked at her curiously for a moment before turning her attention back to the collective.

She was trying to decipher if they were really being nice or if this was a common joke that people like to play on the new kid at school. Michonne knew it too well. She was the new kid so many times. She knew exactly how it went: Ask the new kid to play and then take advantage of their desperation to be part of a circle by making fun of them and bossing them around. It was why Michonne didn't even try to make friends anymore. She just wanted to be left alone. She had her anger to keep her company.

"I like your hair." The taller girl offered with a heavy drawl, taking a single tentative step toward her.

Now, Michonne knew it was a power play. The two nappy puff balls atop her head were put there by her new foster mother, Miss Bets. She was an older lady with crooked arthritic hands. She had a brush but it wasn't for hair like Michonne's. Unaware of what to do with her kinks and unable to try, she'd gathered the little girl's dry hair haphazardly with a comb, not the brush that was needed to do it right. Michonne hadn't had the energy to care.

She knew she looked a mess and she almost spat her familiar playground retort: _fuck you, bitch,_ to the giraffe-like brunette with the side ponytail and her whole crew. Michonne was normally ready to fight if need be, but this day, she was just exhausted.

She had to wait until late the night before to be transferred from her last home to this one. A new home, a new set of rules, a new parent that was nice enough but one she didn't know anything about. Then she spent the whole morning in the school office getting enrolled. They carted her off to a classroom, sat her in a chair and forgot about her, like everybody did.

She didn't know what was crueler, being forgotten by well-meaning adults or being bothered by asshole kids. And as she deliberated that question in her mind, she just rolled her eyes at Miss Backhanded Compliments and Fake Smiles, then stared insolently at the blonde, no answer moving off her lips.

"Come on y'all." The other black girl called, turning her back to the scene and Michonne welcomed being forgotten in this moment and left alone.

"Hold on, Mya." The blonde girl shot back over her shoulder, staring even harder at Michonne. "Maggie said she likes your hair. You could at least say thank you."

Michonne looked back to Maggie, who was still maintaining her smile despite Michonne's cold shoulder. As if to solidify her unspoken point, Michonne rolled her eyes again. Her brown eyes disappeared behind her quivering lids for what seemed like minutes before she opened them again, and stared at them all, defiant.

"Number one, you don't roll your eyes at Maggie!" The blonde came to the defense of her kindhearted friend, stepping to Michonne aggressively and Michonne stood up, bucking back.

"Stop, Drea." Maggie said, pulling her friend back attempting to calm the two clashing cymbals, "It's okay. I just thought you, maybe, wanted to jump rope with us. You know how to double dutch?" The statuesque little girl asked eagerly. "Drea's on the team." She gestured to her still-scowling friend. "I'm Maggie. That's Mya and Nabila." She made introductions. "We call her Nibs. And your name is Michonne, right?" Maggie butchered the new girl's name.

Michonne still didn't answer, but her hostile expression was fading.

"I was in your third period class. Mrs. Elliot couldn't really pronounce your name. Is that how you say it? _Me-chon_?" Maggie asked again with her country accent, that seemed to come from nowhere. She had noticed Michonne's forlorn look when the teacher introduced her to the class. Maggie immediately read her eyes and found more than sadness. Growing up among acres of crops, Maggie knew the signs of a drought, like Michonne's wilted posture. Though her eyes were recently well-watered and red, Maggie could tell she wasn't getting enough love. So the sweetheart of a beanstalk told Andrea and they both decided to give her some. "It's a pretty name." the farm girl said softly.

"It's Michonne." She corrected, her face set to sour.

Taking that small response as a victory, Maggie continued widening her smile, "Me-shon?" she wrecked the name again.

Michonne pinched her face with annoyance but gave her an out,"You can just call me Mimi." she advised, reluctantly warming to her sweetness and Maggie showed all her teeth in a gracious grin.

"You double dutch?" Maggie repeated. "Drea's gonna teach us some tricks."

"You wanna learn 'em too?" Drea asked, deciding to stick to their original plan of a pleasant reception after a prodding nudge from Maggie.

Michonne heard the same country twang from Drea, just not as thick and she wondered why the people who lived in this part of the state talked so funny. "I already know double dutch tricks." She declined.

"Oh, great!" Maggie bounced on her toes and clapped. "You can help her teach us then!" She took Michonne by the hand and pulled her toward the other girls.

Though Michonne kept a steady cloudy expression as Maggie dragged her along, she was touched and happy to find a crew of girls who were genuinely sweet, not just to her, but to each other. She tried to stay detached but she quickly fell in love with them.

Nibs and Mya were friends with another group of girls who were a little catty and didn't like Andrea. So they weren't always around. Even though Michonne was new to the school, she came in and took her place as the third musketeer with no squabble whatsoever.

Andrea lived with her grandma down the street from Michonne's foster home. Her mother was a stunt woman in L.A. She'd send Andrea big packages in the mail full of movie posters, toys and expensive clothes. While Maggie and Michonne raved over the box of goodies, Andrea would be engrossed pouring over the letter and 4x6 pictures that accompanied it. All her mother's adventures and the celebrities she'd met were detailed for Andrea. But while Maggie and Michonne excitedly jabbered on about how cool it all was, Andrea just felt abandoned and she secretly wished her mom would get fired or injured on set so she'd have to come back home.

Michonne spent the most time with Andrea since Maggie lived further out. Her foster mother didn't mind letting her spend most evenings with Andrea as long as her homework was done and on the weekends they spent the night at Maggie's.

Maggie lived with her parents. Her daddy was a fourth-generation farmer, a church-going good old boy from the back roads. Her mother was a former beauty queen, prim and proper, who was a teacher at their school. She didn't have any brothers or sisters, but she had cows and chickens and hogs. She played with them and cared for them... and killed and ate them without batting an eye.

Maggie was a savage and not in hyperbole. She could pop a chicken's head off its body with one hand and never winced at the blood or slaughter of farm life. She would roll her eyes discreetly while the blonde girl cried and ate Mrs. Greene's deliciously crispy fried chicken and Michonne would laugh at the cracks in Andrea's tough girl exterior.

Maggie's daddy and uncles had built her a serious tree house in a big oak on their property and her mother had it decked out and cozy with rugs, curtains and furniture. The three of them would lay in heavy quilts on cool autumn nights, marshmallows in their coco and divvy up 90's heartthrobs between them. Marky Mark belonged to Maggie, Andrea claimed LL Cool J and Michonne settled for Mario Lopez since the fight to bag Leonardo DiCaprio was too intense.

Even though Maggie was nicer, Michonne seemed to gravitate to Andrea's wildness. Michonne had a wildness in her too, but she could never unleash it. It was best to be beige living in strange peoples homes, since you never knew what would set them off. So Michonne stayed reserved and drew pictures with her colored pencils at her foster home, but whenever she was with Andrea and the others, the colors were in her rainbowed smile. They knew her and she belonged.

But it didn't last and she was moved soon enough to another place where things weren't so nice. She lost touch with her friends as her roller-coaster life bounded out of her control, jerking her and flinging her this way and that. She thought that was it, _More loss_.

She had aged out the system but Morgan's house was still her home. She was preparing to start college in a week. Sasha was in boot camp. Shane was in the streets but mostly in the wind. Tyreese was home but he was going through an episode of depression and Michonne couldn't get through to him. She'd work, come home, watch TV until there was nothing else to watch and then go through her CD's from Brandy to Jay Z to Sean Paul and Erykah Badu. She wasn't sketching or painting anymore. She was in a sort of limbo. Waiting for her life to begin. **Her life**. A life that was truly her own.

One day it dawned on her, when she had spent most of her paycheck on a dress, that she would make out better working in fashion retail for the 30% discount on clothes. So she stopped taking food orders and was lucky enough to get a job at her favorite downtown boutique.

It was almost the end of her shift and she was organizing the clothing racks when she heard the jingle of the bell on the door alert her to the two new patrons entering the store. Michonne glanced behind her to greet the large blonde man who resembled a Ken doll and the smaller woman, wearing a short denim dress with a ruffled shoulder and a pair of red-framed shades.

"You owe me two outfits. One for the dress you spilled your drink on and the other one for my pain and suffering." The woman said, through noisy giggles and Michonne liked this girl already.

"First of all you spilled that drink on yourself," the man laughed, "and second of all, what pain and suffering?"

"The pain of being around all those frat boys and their ditsy girlfriends. You know that is not my scene."

"That's not your scene?! I had to _make_ you leave!"

"Well the D.J. was amazing. He kept playing all my songs!"

"Yeah, Jerry can spin." The man agreed.

"So I also need a pair of shoes, too."

"What?! What for?!"

"So I can dance a little longer the next time you take me out."

"So, there's gonna be a next time?" the man asked with a hopeful tone.

"If you play your cards right. And this place takes 'em all. Visa, Mastercard, American Express..." Michonne heard the woman say and she laughed to herself along with the man.

She listened to their cute banter a little longer. She thought it was nice that a girl had a guy. A nice guy. She was still skeptical about Shane's proclamation that "emotional anesthesia" was the only option for people like them. In that moment, eavesdropping on new lovebirds, she thought about those nights, giggling in Maggie's treehouse drawing up wedding plans and playing MASH.

She was smiling at the memory when the woman approached her and asked if she could try on a couple things. Michonne turned with a courteous smile ready to assist her. She was now wearing her sunglasses on top of her head and when Michonne's cinnamon eyes met the apple greens of the woman in front of her, she was shocked with recognition.

"Mimi!?" the woman squealed and startled the man accompanying her, wrapping Michonne in a heavy tearful hug.

"Oh my God." Michonne stood there stunned in Andrea's embrace. It was like she had magically transferred her from being an imaginary friend in her mind, to flesh and blood in the space of a few seconds. She was almost creeped out by the timing.

Andrea pushed her back to look at her and make sure she was real. She used her hand to brush back her locs, cut in a shoulder length bob, and took in all the ways her friend had changed. Her chin shook and her voice was a ghost in her throat as she pulled Michonne back into her arms again, "My best friend." she said to herself over Michonne's shoulder. "God. I've been missing you!"

Michonne's top was about to blow from holding in her emotions. Her lungs sputtered and her shoulders heaved as she let them go and they both stood there crying in the middle of the store as the Ken doll looked in confusion.

Andrea explained to her guy that Michonne was a dear friend that she hadn't seen in years and cut his time with her short to catch up with her long lost partner in crime. But not before he played his cards right on two dresses and a pair of wedges, then dropped the two ladies off at a diner a few blocks away.

They found out that they had both landed at the same college with different majors. Michonne, who was obviously taking advantage of the Arts program, was surprised to find Andrea in Economics chasing a BA in Finance. She was dumbstruck at the idea of the 'Thelma to her Louise' living the stereotypically dull life of a number cruncher.

After Andrea explained how a shiesty manager screwed her mother over out west, it made sense to Michonne that her friend took on this major to help her mom and as her own act of vigilantism. Michonne also thought, if anybody could bring some life to the profession, Andrea would be the one to give accountants the same reputation as sailors.

Andrea explained that Maggie had to take time off from school when her mom went through chemo, but she still made appearances whenever she could. That brought on another bout of tears. Michonne remembered what a beautiful soul Mrs. Greene was. Andrea assured her that Maggie's mom was a tenacious fighter and though her progress was up and down, her spirit wasn't broken. Ever the glamour girl, Andrea said when Mrs. Greene lost her hair she rocked her bald head and makeup like a pro.

When Michonne talked about Morgan and her sister and brothers and the place she called home, Andrea was overcome with happiness for her friend. When Andrea finally met Shane she barely gave him the time of day and turned her nose up at him, considering him to be a dusty drug addict. Her considerations were accurate but she could see beneath all his issues that he loved Michonne as fiercely as she did.

Michonne had never known how much Andrea worried about her. If she'd never ran into Andrea that day, Michonne would never have known her and Maggie skipped school one day to go to Child and Family Services demanding to know where Michonne had been placed. That had earned them both detention for a week. If you Michonne didn't know Andrea so well, she would have never believed her story of how she called in a bomb threat to that government office. Michonne looked at her outrageous friend with wide eyes when Andrea told her the only reason she didn't grow up in juvie is because, pre-9/11, a little blonde girl with a well-known family name and a sweet sob story could pull at the heartstrings of the Sheriff.

Being a kid, you never understand how big the world is until you enter it. You never know how deep a person can be buried. Deep in sadness or rage or even government paperwork. That's where Michonne was buried. As time passed, Andrea and Maggie had even tried to find her on the internet every now and then, but to no avail, since Michonne rarely had access to an internet connection.

Once all three of them were reunited, though, they stayed up late talking on three-way calls every night catching up and cutting up. They hooted and hollered, giving Miss Jelly Beans and Candy Corn a reason to smile when she just wanted to lay down and die with her mom. Andrea would brazenly volunteer the details of her racy sex life in an effort to get her friends to do the same.

"Please stop, Andrea. You did not fuck Matthew McConaughey." Michonne said in total disbelief.

"I swear on the treehouse. Why would I lie? I met him at a party when I went to visit my mom."

"Matthew McConaughey? The real one?" Maggie verified. A simple yes was all it took to completely activate her gullible nature.

"Maggie, tell me you don't believe this girl…" Michonne rolled her eyes on her end of the call.

"I'm gonna send y'all a picture." Andrea said undaunted by her friend's distrust. She thumbed the cursor keys of her pink Motorola flip phone, looking for the selfie she'd taken with the movie star at the party. "Okay, I sent it. I don't know why y'all think I would lie on my pussy. He said he wanted to talk to me because Hollywood chicks don't have that southern appeal and he missed it."

Michonne looked at the pixelated image from Andrea. "Blondie, this could be anybody! You can't even see his face!" She squinted at the curly-headed man's profile who was obviously kissing Andrea in the picture. So maybe she did sleep with this "guy"… knowing Andrea she probably did. But… "This doesn't prove anything!"

Andrea just laughed. "Okay. Y'all don't have to believe me. But one day I'm gonna take y'all with me to Cali and we're gonna find Leonardo DiCaprio and fulfill our childhood dreams… pass his ass around like a blunt."

They all laughed at Andrea's raunch. Michonne had just finished watching an episode of the game show "The Weakest Link". She loved to hear the redheaded host roast the contestants and gave her friend a little of the bespectacled Brit's heat, "Andrea, you are the skankiest skank. Goodbye."

By the time they hung up their sides were split and Michonne could feel herself really coming alive from her connection with these bright lights of love returning to her life. No matter what she went through her girls were there. They shared everything. All the bad and all the good. Maggie said they shared too much. She was the quietest one on every call but she never stopped listening and they called her out for it all the time, crying "guilt by association".

On Andrea's next birthday, Michonne threw her girlfriend the party of all college parties. The theme was America's Next Top Model. Maggie used her down home connections for access to all the things they'd need and Michonne's artistic attention to detail made the party legendary on campus. Soon enough friends from their extended circle were coming to Michonne for her innovation and talent. It was Andrea who suggested it be a money-making venture and the tiny three-woman team launched the humble beginnings of Yes M.A.M. Design.

The acronym for their names was suggested by Maggie. The business model was devised by Andrea and Michonne quit her job at the boutique to have some semblance of balance in her life as her busy brain bubbled from her burning creativity.

Eventually, they got Jerry to commit to working with them exclusively. Maggie explained that if he limited access to his talent and killed every set, he'd be famous by the time they graduated. They had more work than they could handle. Everybody wanted an event staged by them. It was insane.

For Michonne, it was what she always wanted. She had never been so popular in her life. But being known by everyone opened her up to brand new anxieties. The guys who pursued her were not always genuine and jealous females threw hate and started rumors. The hate she was used to- finding her way through all the male attention was more challenging.

There were more than a handful of physical dustups caused by Andrea stepping to jelly Nellies who came out of pocket with the friend she hadn't been able to protect for years. There was hair pulling and thrown punches when Michonne had to backup Andrea in scuffles with bitter Betties who lost their man to the blonde barracuda. Still, they finally made it through college by the skin of their teeth and had always thought of those years as the time of their lives.

But, now, in their 30's, embarking marriages and maternity clothes, they were all discovering that life right now held the same kind of excitement, if not more. Those same good times were brimming from their round table in the restaurant, presently. Rick called it when he said it'd be a dinner for the glam squad and their trophy husbands. That was an apt description of the giggling group in the dim restaurant.

Michonne sat to the right of Shane and Andrea sat to his left at the round chestnut table in front of the wide glass wall in a seafoam tint. Low-hanging orb-shaped crystal chandeliers sent diffused light softly into the space. Rick was next to Michonne and Glenn and Maggie rounded out the jovial group. Split down the middle, the table could be divided into Team Sensible and Safe with Rick and the Rhees versus Team Carefree and Crass with Michonne and Mr. and Mrs. Walsh.

Glenn could not have been happier next to Grimes. He was actively trying to curry favor with Rick for a bromance and convert him to a gamer. Glenn thought Rick was the coolest guy he knew. He had an idea for a game based on Rick's work as a bodyguard.

Daryl had suggested that Glenn pitch the concept to Rick, knowing his partner wouldn't be interested. At which point, Daryl planned to finagle his way into the starring role. He wasn't the only one with a hidden agenda, since Glenn hoped to finagle his way into Daryl's role as Rick's best friend.

So while Rick tried to relax away his exciting but long day, the guy next to him took every break in the group's conversation to flatter the boss at the table. But right now Shane had everyone's attention recounting the details of how he and Andrea ended their day as a married couple.

"I don't know, man. She got up this mornin' and told me to put on my suit. We caught the train down to the courthouse… Mind you, I still don't know what's goin' on… I asked her, she wouldn't tell me shit." Shane looked to Andrea and they both shared a smile at the memory. "I shoulda known something was up, she was wearing this all-white pants suit…

"And you're absolutely stunnin', hun." Maggie interrupted with a different adjective for the same compliment she'd been giving the new bride since they got there.

Shane turned to his left and collected his wife's hand into his, kissing her knuckles. He agreed on a whisper. "Stunnin'." and turned back to the rest of his party after holding her gaze in unspoken communication. "She picked up a clipboard from the counter in the room. I was lookin' 'round the place for clues. Like, where are we and what're we doin' here? Finally, I see the sign at the counter that says _marriage licenses._ I'm not gonna lie, I was a little shook. My heart was racin'." Everybody laughed as Shane put his hand over his heart and took a deep breath in simulation. "When I looked down again," he clapped his hands together loudly for emphasis, "the ring was on the pen she was writin' with! Like a magic trick… like sleight 'a hand! This beautiful lady wantin' to put a ring on my finger? Boy, I swear… I felt like Beyonce or some damn body. Then tell 'em what you said, baby." He opened the floor to Andrea.

"I said," She related, in a more subdued manner, as she smothered his dark eyes with her green. "Whatcha say, Shane Walsh? You wanna stop wastin' each other's time and get a family goin'?"

The table was stirred with reactive praise and approval of their seemingly endless yet obviously inevitable journey to a life together.

Shane tried to continue with his story but Michonne, who was reclining against Rick's chest, interrupted him now, "I'm so happy for you guys, but I can't not mention the elephant in the room."

"That'd be you, Mimi." Her brother teased her about the smack of her weight gain.

Ever since she called the people at that table with the news of her pregnancy, Shane had been dying to see her and make some belly jokes, whether they were warranted or not. When he immediately recognized the little bump she was carrying, tonight, his eyes glazed over without his permission and all the jokes he had planned were forgotten. But now that they were halfway through appetizers and he'd had time to process it, he was ready to follow "big brother" protocol and roast her properly.

Michonne rolled her eyes at Shane, "And you're a jackass."

"Don't sully the night with politics, folks." the stray comment came from Glenn who nudged Rick with his elbow as he laughed by himself at pointless connection he'd made. While everyone else looked confused, trying to catch up, he hinted at his meaning, "You know, because elephants…" he paused hoping they'd join him in the corny pun "and donkeys…?" He held out a beat longer and turned to Rick still hoping that at least he'd get it. "They represent the two opposing political ideologies of America… who also tend to make conflict out of the simplest things… like Shane and Mimi?" Having to explain the joke and the crickets his humor drummed up were only slightly less painful than the pity chuckles he received.

Maggie piped up, "Babe that would make Michonne a republican… there's absolutely nothin' funny 'bout that."

Mrs. Rhee was still very raw over Bernie Sander's defeat in the primaries. And when Hillary lost, she'd asked Tyreese if he could recommend a therapist who specializes in political trauma. She was surprised to hear there wasn't a particular niche in the profession for the casualties of the most poisonous and impossible election in American history.

"Sorry, honey. Too soon?"

"Glenn, it will always be too soon for that." Maggie said sternly. She turned back to Michonne, "Now what were you saying, Mimi? The elephant in the room?"

"Is the fact that Blondie is wearing this _white_ … a woman with your body count should have worn a nice cream or beige… or gray… you know for accuracy." Michonne made a joke of her own, to which the table turned up again.

Andrea concocted a gasp of outrage and Shane threw the cloth napkin by his plate at his sister's face, "Mimi, you ain't gonna come for my baby like that." He warned her with a serious face and a playful quality to his threat. "Rick, please get'er handled, man."

Rick, holding back the surprise that Shane addressed him with such a lighthearted tone, shrugged and shook his head as though he were helpless against the purge of his lady's mouth. Because he was. They all laughed at Michonne and Shane's tomfoolery.

"It's funny 'cause it's true." Glenn pointed out flatly, deflating the humor in the harmless tease. "Right, Rick?" he elbowed his secret role model, seeking approval.

The only guy with gray at the table, turned his mouth down, raised his brow in a vague sort of way and gave a small shake of his head, that made it clear he wasn't about to call down the wrath of the girls at the table for the sake of Glenn's awkward sense of humor.

"No more Maker's Mark for you, babe." Maggie took away his cup. They were the first to get there and Glenn was on his third drink.

"I'm a good girl, Glenn." Andrea said turning her nose up at his implication.

"Darlin' let's keep it within the realm of believability." Shane came after Andrea himself now. "There's only one good girl at this table and her name is Margaret Rhee."

"Hey!" Andrea slapped him against the chest in protest. "I can be sweet as fuck!" she reminded him through the sting of her strike, making his sister giggle.

"I always said yall make it look easy." Michonne addressed Miss Tapioca and Cherries on Top, "The good girl and Mr. Nice Guy… that's a match made in heaven."

"Hey, we fight." Maggie admitted. "I push his buttons, he'll push mine. Nobody's perfect."

"As the longest married couple here… What's it? Almost two years under your belt? What advice you got for us newly weds and the soon to be newly weds?" Rick asked, finally giving his undivided attention to Glenn.

Andrea pressed him for co-signing Michonne's wedding dress comment, "Yeah, _Rocky_?" She deliberately announced his sexual alias that no one knew but Maggie, giving a wicked smirk as he turned accusingly to his wife who was already lung deep in a gasp of shock.

"Blondie!" Michonne scolded the devilish blabbermouth for spilling the beans on their eavesdropping. Rick and Shane looked at each other confused at the different reactions unfolding around the table. Michonne tried to put the conversation back on track despite the daggers coming from Maggie's eyes. "Yeah, guys," she grinned nervously, "bestow your wisdom upon us."

"There's got to be respect." Glenn finally said deciding not to delve too deeply into the _rocky_ situation.

"And a whole lotta love." Maggie offered with a nod.

"It sounds cliche. But you gotta respect her wild side and protect that just as much as you protect her in emotional moments. You gotta let her be who she is and love that." Glenn sermonized. "Make it clear that you always have each other's backs with your actions."

Maggie looked her husband in the eye, proud of his eloquence and added, "Just be willin' to be willin'... 'cause where there's a will there's a way."

"I know that's right." Andrea agreed wholeheartedly. "That's like what you said about Rick, Bubba. Tell him what you said."

Shane rubbed at his neck, bristling at repeating the praise he'd given his sister's fiance in front of the man himself. But as he cleared his throat, he realized he actually wanted Rick to know what he'd said. Observing Rick's patience with Michonne was the reason why Shane had the woman of his dreams beside him.

Michonne and Rick exchanged a quick glance of curiosity as Shane began to speak.

"Uh… I said Rick is a godsend for this girl." He inclined his head timidly to his right at Michonne. He kept his eyes on the empty shot glass in front of him as he nervously flipped it on its mouth then back to its base repeatedly. "And he showed me how to keep my pride in tact and still be a slave for _this_ woman." He held up Andrea's hand like a prize. "Seein' how he handled Lori... shit, seein' how he put up with me and my B.S. all for love. It seems like he's takin' L's but he's always winnin' 'cause Mimi's always happy. If I'm bein' honest, those weeks you were gone, I was praying you'd come back to her." He leaned forward and looked at Rick now, "I can be a little thick in the head sometimes, but I do come around eventually. I wanna thank you for that subtle education… and…" he chuckled, "for not whoopin' my ass at Sasha's that day. I know Daryl was itchin' for it." Andrea rubbed his back in support of his apology and Michonne fought back her tears.

"He was." Rick confirmed his best friend's preference for violence. "Look man, I understand. You just want to protect 'er. I can't be mad at you for that. I know you been lookin' out for her for a long time. All'a you have. And that's what she deserves."

The waiter interrupted Rick's sentiment, setting the main courses in front of everyone at the table. They all began to inspect, dress their plates and dig in.

"So how'd it go at the doctor today, Mimi?" Maggie asked, after she swallowed her initial taste test.

"Mmm!" She chewed hurriedly and took out her phone. "We got ultrasound pictures!" She sent a part of the video to everyone at the table and as their phone's chirped and dinged, they pulled up the group chat and pressed play.

Andrea got her's up first, cooing at the idea of a baby before she could even make out the dark shapes moving on the ultrasound screen. Maggie and Glenn shared a phone to see and Shane was the last to begin the video. Diamond's voice could be heard in the background saying 'Well, both of your babies look great…'

Andrea's eyes immediately shot up to Michonne and Rick. " _Both_ _babies_?" she questioned with her vibrant green eyes.

Like an echo, Diamonds proclamation of twins came from Maggie's phone next, then Shane's and they all waited for the proud parents to confirm the exciting news. "You're having twins?" Shane repeated his wife's question.

"Yeah. I see them!" Glenn said proudly as he made out each baby's outline and traced them with his finger for Maggie, whose hands covered her open, speechless mouth.

Rick looked at Michonne lovingly, kissed the apple of her smiling cheek and confirmed, "We're having twins."


	30. Chapter 30

"Hi, Michonne."

"Hello. What can I do for you Lori?"

"How are you?"

"I'm fine."

"And Rick?"

"He's fine."

The phone went silent long enough to make it unbearably awkward and Lori finally relented the sudden game of verbal chicken. She instinctively sucked her teeth. She hoped Michonne couldn't hear her as the new but constant woman in Rick's life already seemed irritated and Lori was nervous that she would not agree to her reason for calling.

She gave a false chuckle that fell flat against Michonne's ear. "You sound busy. So I'll cut to the chase. I was wondering if you would help me do my Christmas shopping for Carl."

Michonne twisted the corner of her mouth genuinely surprised by Lori's request. She remained silent on the phone, this time trying to process what Rick's ex-wife had just said to her.

Lori continued to try to sway her when Michonne didn't immediately refuse. "My son..."

The words made Michonne roll her eyes but there was nothing false or malicious about the statement.

She was at her desk, putting the finishing touches on the drafted layout of a New Year's party for a client. She stilled her fingers over her mouse to listen more objectively to what Lori was saying, realizing that Lori was not out of line in calling Carl her son. No matter how much it grated Michonne's nerves. It just sounded wrong, like pronouncing the "r" in February.

"Well," Lori continued, "he thinks you can do no wrong. He's at that age now where I sure don't know what he'd like... Maybe you'd like to help make sure I don't mess this up for him." She said choosing her words carefully to play on Michonne's soft spot for Carl.

"I'm really busy this time of year." Michonne wasn't lying. She fell asleep every night drained from long days at work. She had four events to oversee in the next few weeks. The holidays were grueling for her. It was always enough to make the season bittersweet. But now she was also trying to pull her wedding together, communicating regularly with Jessie about selling the condo and searching for a house, not to mention the undeniable fatigue she was experiencing as her body put so much energy into growing the two little miracles in her womb. And on top of it all, Rick was out of town on business. She was missing him and horny as hell. She was not in the mood for any of Lori's stupidity.

"Oh yes. That's right. What do you do again?"

"A lot of things, Lori." Michonne was being uncharacteristically short with Lori, who was currently giving her a headache. But she grit her teeth to be nicer, "When are you talking? Maybe I can carve out some time for you."

"Oh, would you?" Lori became excited. "Any time you have, honey. Carl is gonna spend the weekend with his friend. If we could get together sometime during the day Saturday? I'll even buy you lunch."

"Ok. That'll work. I'm working on a display at White Oak mall. We can meet there around noon."

"I really appreciate it, Michonne."

"Anything for the kid." She said honestly with her first smile of the day. It was faint but genuine. "I gotta go. I don't mean to be rude, I'm really swamped, here. But I'll see you Saturday."

* * *

Michonne had just come from a meeting with mall management for the winter wonderland set for pictures with Santa. Everything was in place: dozens of trees, a ton of lights, the fake snow. She was about to lose her mind when they couldn't find the red carpet for the line to Santa. But just as she was about to let the expletives fly, someone found it, still rolled up in its box. The only thing missing from the scene was St. Nick and his elves.

For some odd reason it was pissing her off that people were going to bring their kids to sit in a stranger's lap and tell them lie after lie about who he was and where their gifts were coming from. She found herself rolling her eyes at the thought of all the parents who were going to bring their kids here and make them believe in fakery. It seemed like a "Lori" thing to do. She decided in that moment that she wouldn't do that to her kids.

And then, as soon as she'd made that determination, she realized how batty she sounded. She felt like her brain was stampeding from place to place overreacting to the stimulus of the holiday music, the crowds, the sparkle and twinkle coming at her from every direction. She'd created all of the beauty around her and now she hated it- for no real reason. It dawned on her that she was just so mentally fatigued, her thoughts were an unsettling rigmarole and adding an afternoon with Lori was probably not a good idea.

That's definitely what Rick would have said, which is why she didn't tell him. In her opinion, he was just as crazy as she was right now. His protective disposition had him handling her with an unnecessary pair of kid gloves. She was constantly teetering on a razor's edge between wanting to fuck him and wanting to strangle him.

She thought she'd enjoy the breathing room when he went out of town. Instead she found out it was harder to breathe with him gone. With all her mixed emotions and muddled thoughts, she sat on a bench near the escalators needing to whine. She wouldn't dare call Rick as he was like to fly back home immediately to coddle her and she couldn't be _that_ ridiculous. So while she waited for Lori to get there she sat there talking to Tyreese.

"Feels like I haven't talked to you." She sighed with relief after their initial greetings.

"Because you haven't." he accused her playfully. He heard Michonne moan apologetically and gave her an out, "Hey, that's a good sign. You only call me to talk you off ledges."

"That's not true, Blankey."

"It is. It's okay. You talked me off my fair share of ledges back in the day. I'm comfortable with our dynamic, sis."

"But that's not our dynamic." She said guiltily. Knowing that she was only calling him now to soothe her nerves before she saw Lori. "I called you today, didn't I? And I'm fine." She lied to throw him off her trail.

"Are you? Rick called me and told me he was going out of town and to expect a call from you this weekend. Said you've been extra..."

"Extra what?" She asked expectantly, ready to overreact.

"You know, extra needy."

"Who the hell?" She blasted back with a hair-brained tone as soon as he said it. "He's full of shit. Never needy." She shook her head and repeated, "Mimi is never needy."

"Oh, so you don't need Rick? I see. That's interesting." He said with sarcasm. "Does he know that? Better yet, Do you? There's a wedding coming up in a few weeks."

"Don't remind me."

"Why do you say that? What's wrong?" He asked her seriously, taking note of the agitation in her voice.

"Nothing is wrong. Everything is right. I'm just running myself ragged. I don't know what the hell I was thinking trying to do all this myself." She began to cry. "I... I'm just overwhelmed. I'm exhausted. This wedding being so soon... work has been non-stop. I'm trying to take care of home, make this Christmas special..."

"Mimi you don't even care about Christmas like that."

"I know... but Carl's gonna be with us... it's our first Christmas as a family. I want to make it special for my guys."

"Okay... wait... I'm channeling Rick right now…" Tyreese place a finger on his temple as if he was getting a transmission from Rick's brain to his. "Rick would definitely say something like 'Havin' ya in my life makes everythang special.'" Ty mocked Rick's southern drawl. "And I know he'd be pissed right now to know that you're wearing yourself thin. Ultimately, sis, you're not going to be able to do everything you have in that mind of yours. Your glass is half full, which is a good thing but that also means at some point it's going to be completely full if you keep adding to it. You need to slow down. Because you know what happens if you run with a full glass..."

"Blankey, you know I work like this around this time of year. This isn't really new for me... I'm just..."

"Uh, this is new, Mimi." He said plainly. "You went from it only being you last year, to Rick, Carl and two babies. And unless you promise me to get some serious rest, I'm going to have to tell Rick because he told me to keep tabs on you til he gets back."

"What are we? Kids again? You tattletale!" She fussed. She felt betrayed by her brother but that feeling was engulfed by the thought of being in trouble with Rick. "Rick is good." she said scornfully and attempted an insult. "He knew who'd make the best informant. And while we're on this subject... I know you told Morgan that me and Bubba went to that Snoop Dogg concert!"

"So! You were both underage, without a license, in a dangerous environment. You two could've been hurt..."

"Ugh! You've been old your whole life, you snitch!" she interjected, not accepting any of his good reasons for selling them out.

Tyreese laughed, caught off guard by her intense irritation over something that happened so long ago. He now saw firsthand Michonne in all her hormonal glory. It was entertaining but also pointless to argue with her in this state. "Anything could have happened to you two. But…" he said smugly, "you have a teenager now, so talk to me about snitching after Carl does something like that."

"I don't like you right now."

"As long as you still love me, I don't care. I'd rather be on _your_ bad side than Rick's when it comes to your well-being. So promise me you'll chill out."

"Okay. I promise. Damn! I should've called Bubba."

"But you didn't. You called your much more sensible brother because deep down you know that you're doing too much and you just wanted permission to give it a rest and do what's best for you and those babies."

"Don't psychoanalyze me, Dr. Blankey! If you want to help me, you and Noah need to come over and help me finish decorating the condo before Rick gets home."

"See it's not so hard to ask for help. It has four letters but it's not a bad word, Mimi. And yes, we'll be over later when Noah gets off work."

She gave Tyreese a kurt goodbye when she saw Carl's mother approaching. Lori threw her raised hand this way and that, ducking excitedly and smiling at Michonne.

"Hey, Michonne. You look like you should be in one of the store windows. I love your outfit."

She was dressed in a pair of khaki-colored riding pants, from her increasingly limited wardrobe, and fuzzy cream over-sized cashmere sweater. She was, however, thankful that her shoes still fit and her feet were covered in a pair of her favorite boots. Suede over-the-knees with a shiny gold zipper, a chunky rubber high heel and cleated tread were a deep rich brown. She held her black wool and leather coat across her arms in her lap and her vibrant red plaid scarf and beanie matched her flaming matte lips perfectly.

"Thanks."

"Great minds think alike." Lori said with a delighted gasp dangling the fringed tip of her scarf which was identical to Michonne's. Her dark slim-fit jeans and white fitted collar shirt were paired with a black low-heel bootie and only a thin black sweater despite the frigid temperature outside. "You're gaining weight?" She pointed out, pretending not to know that Michonne was pregnant. That's how Lori had been coping- acting like this pregnancy wasn't really happening, even though that was all she thought about.

"Yeah. Guess so. That's what pregnant women do."

"Oh that's right. Carl did mention that to me. When are you due?"

"Yeah. He told me you knew." Michonne popped her bubble of pretense. "I'm due in June."

"Well that'll be miserable in the summer." She said offhandedly, looming over Michonne as she put away her phone and prepared to start their time together in earnest. "But Thanks again for meeting me."

Michonne had never spent any real time with Lori and she wondered if this woman had asked for her help for the sole purpose of chipping away at her calm with petty remarks. "No problem, Lori. So what's your budget for Carl's gift?" she asked getting right to the point to hurry this little shopping date along.

"I hadn't figured on one. What's the price range for the coolest toys this year?"

Michonne furrowed her brow. "Toys?" Lori nodded waiting for an answer. "Carl is almost 15." Michonne reminded her, "He's a little old for toys."

"Well, I don't mean _toys_ toys. He plays those video games."

"Have you ever seen the games he plays? They're not for kids." She said as she stood up gathering her purse and hung it off her shoulder. "I'm not really into the video game thing so much, though. Daryl would have been a better guide for that." Michonne admitted as she and Lori struggled to stay side by side navigating the herd of holiday shoppers. "But really now that, Carl and Glenn are close there's no need…"

"And who's Glenn?"

"My friend. He's married to one of my best friends. They're family really. He works for COdE. It's a gaming company. Carl has already put his bid in for all the freebies Glenn can get his hands on."

"Oh! Speaking of your little makeshift family," She said condescendingly, "how's your brother?"

"He's doing great." She said, ignoring Lori's attempt to insult her and perking up at the opportunity to talk about her brother's happiness. "He's married and I've honestly never seen him happier."

Lori was floored at the news. Shane was never in danger of being the love of her life, but for him to be married? That was like being dragged down the block by Santa's sleigh. She impulsively blurted, "He's married?" Then regained her composure, forcing a smile. "Wow! To who?"

"To my other best friend, Andrea..." Michonne answered her question happily, without equivocation.

"Well, You certainly have a lot of best friends." Lori swallowed hard, "And everybody's in love and getting married..." She scoffed, counting the weeks since she had her sights on Shane. "You guys really jump in headfirst don't you? I would call it a family trait if you guys were really family."

"Call it whatever you like." Michonne countered, feeling less affected by Lori's relentless attempts to affront her. She could see that, though it may have been the woman's intention to get her alone to make her uncomfortable, her plan was backfiring.

Roe's wisdom floated through MIchonne's brain, _The best revenge is a happy life_. Michonne gave Lori an easy smile, "I can see how you'd consider my relationship with Rick as a little brash. But Bubba and Andrea have been together for years. Everybody saw that coming… except you, I guess."

Lori could see that rattling Michonne wasn't easy like a Sunday morning. That last comment hit her below the belt and she had to save face. "I guess it's the season. People find true love unexpectedly. I have. I met someone too."

"Good for you!" Michonne said sincerely hoping that this guy would keep her happy and out of their hair.

"Yeah, he's a real sweetheart. And he owns a construction company overseas. A _multi_ -million dollar company." She stressed, making it clear that she was comparing her new man to Rick.

"Nothing like a successful, hard-working man." Michonne shrugged.

"He spoils me rotten. I think he might pop the question any day now.."

"That's great. Good things come to those who wait. You've been by yourself a long time, focusing on Carl. It's about time you get what you've put into life."

"Wouldn't it be funny if I got hitched before you did?" Lori touched Michonne's shoulder in a faux laugh. "Talk about something nobody saw coming."

Michonne took Lori to a few high end places to buy her favorite guy's clothes. He more often than not, liked to look like his dad with a casual style. But due to Michonne's influence, Carl's lean was less country and more intentionally polished.

"I thought kids hate to get clothes for christmas?"

"Kids do. But, again, Carl's not a kid." She wanted to staple that sentence to his mother's forehead. "He's a young man coming into his own. He's creating his own individual style and he loves this brand." She reached for a supple leather bomber and took Lori on a guided tour through the diverging facets of her son's custom look.

Lori also got a free lesson in lingerie when Michonne stopped in one of her favorite spots and got a few lacy, racy bra and pantie sets. Lori was disordered at the small peak into Michonne's sexlife with her ex-husband. She all of a sudden felt like she was standing there in front of Michonne in nothing but her b-list bloomers and basic brassiere and she could just hear Rick's voice dropping words of worship at his fiance's feet.

Tired of the present company, both women hoped the other had forgotten the lunch they had agreed to as they walked out of the mall. Neither mentioned food as Michonne helped Lori load all her things into her vehicle.

"So, I tried to talk to Rick about this but, since you have him wrapped around your little finger I'll just talk to you." Lori pressed the button to close the cargo door on her SUV and turned to Michonne. "My boyfriend wants to take me on a trip over Christmas. He wants me to meet his family and I'll be gone a month." She as though it were a foregone conclusion, her voice giving no hint to the apprehension she truly felt about leaving with Negan. "So Carl needs to stay with you guys."

"No problem." Michonne answered quickly. "I could use his help."

Lori opened the driver's door. But before she climbed in, she faced Michonne, "Tell me something, Michonne. Why'd you agree to meet me today? We don't really like each other. Why do this?"

"I told you, I did it for the kid. I love him." Michonne answered, looking down as she fished out her keys from her purse.

"Yeah, I believe you do." Lori decided, regarding her closely. "That's why I asked you to do this. To see if you would. I had to know before I decided to go on this trip, how you really feel about my son, not just my husband."

"Well, I'm glad I passed the test." she sigh at Lori's delusion in referring to Rick as her husband. Michonne replied with a high degree of defiance, "So when your _husband_ marries me you can rest easy at night."

The words had their intended effect on Lori and she responded with her first unambiguously malicious comment of the day."You passed the test but remember: Carl belongs to me no matter who his father belongs to.

"That's true." Michonne conceded. "He also belongs to me no matter how much he belongs to _you_."

Lori's face fell. She knew she couldn't deny it. Carl loved Michonne so much and he didn't hide it. He was like his father that way. No matter how aloof he tried to be, he wore his heart on his sleeve and he had a big one. "Well, thanks again for doing this. And congratulations on the baby."

"It's babies." Michonne corrected her as Lori settled into her seat. The words made Lori feel like she was falling down a chimney right into the fire. She sat stunned as she watched Michonne look both ways before entering the driving path of the parking lot. The dusky beauty waved to her, calling back over her shoulder, "I'll let Rick know about your trip. Get there safe. And if I don't see you before, Merry Christmas."

Lori boiled as Michonne jogged across the asphalt to find her car in the sea of automobiles. She knew, rationally, it didn't make a difference if Michonne was carrying one baby or eight. If she was completely honest, it didn't make a difference if Rick married her or not. Lori had lost him a _long_ time ago.

Watching Michonne head back to her life made Lori fester. She hated them. All of them.

She hated Shane and the fact that his life was coming together after he'd ditched her without so much as a breakup text. Despite his criminality, he was doing better than her. She had never answered for any of her villainy. She would never admit to any either. But in her soul there was a hopeless chasm that only grew the more she ignored and justified her actions.

She hated Andrea. She remembered the blonde's picture in Shane's crummy apartment, smiling on one side of him, with Michonne smiling on the other. Lori hated her then, even before she saw her face at Sasha's baby shower.

She hated Sasha for the big production she walked in on celebrating the forthcoming arrival of her little girl. It put her meager baby shower for Carl to shame, with all seven of it's attendees. Flo had provided tuna salad, crackers and cheese while her sister decorated with wonky streamers and lackluster balloons. She grit her teeth imagining what over the top celebration Michonne's family would devise with all the excitement to welcome _two_ babies.

She hated Rick for not loving her. She hated him for growing from the catastrophe of their marriage and bowing out of the games she wanted to play. She hated him for being a better parent than she was, against the odds of his late start and her treachery.

She even found herself hating Carl sometimes as he smiled down at his phone, texting Michonne. When she heard him talking to his father about what Michonne would want and what Michonne would like and what Michonne had said. As if it was Michonne who'd been beside him all through his life.

She hated Carol, her black coffee and intimidating threats. She hated Daryl and his pungent immortal mutt. She hated that a frigid old battleaxe had bagged the guy that had turned her down once upon a time. She was pissed that her relative youth and her feminine wiles were useless on a loyal man.

She hated Glenn and Maggie, though she had never met them. Hearing Michonne talk fondly of them was enough. She imagined them as a good-looking couple beaming like royalty as they took their spots in the parade of love for her nemesis.

But the one she hated most of all was in her sights right now.

Michonne was happy to be rid of Lori and though she had a major headache, she bopped along the columns of cars on her left and right, the whisper of Mariah Carey's overplayed holiday song "All I Want for Christmas is You" coming off her lips in white puffs of warm air.

Putting the diabolical harpy out of her mind with little effort, Michonne was focused and eager to spend some time with Tyreese and Noah putting the finishing touches on her Christmas at home. She wanted to present it to Rick when he got back in a few days.

She spotted her car a few yards away and then and hit the high note in the song. She stopped in her tracks, short of breath, when her vision blurred and the sounds around her seemed to be sucked into a vacuum. Her head swirled as she fell back into the car to her left and then slid sideways across the glossy finish. She hit the ground with a thud, landing on her side, out of the field of vision to any passersby.

Lori saw her go down and gasped at the unexpected sight. She whispered a knee jerk _oh my god_ to herself and clutched the steering wheel tight at the painful fall. But she didn't move. She sat there a second longer as a nefarious smile cracked across her lips.

She pulled out from her parking spot and drove away. "Merry Christmas to you too, bitch."


	31. Chapter 31

_**A/N:**_

 _ **The song in this chapter is Sweetheart, Darlin' of Mine by Claire Lynch. Give it a listen and tell me what you think. It's different from all the other music I've included but I think it's super cute and the lyrics are very 'why-rush-forever-ish' lol**_

Michonne woke up but it felt like her eyelids were taped to her face. She could hear faint noises around her and feel a heaviness on top of her entire body. Finally, she parted her eyes enough to see the I.V. in the back of her hand. Her other hand was not in her line of sight as she laid partially curled up in the fetal position with her head elevated by the electric adjustable bed. The muffled sounds around her became more distinct and she felt the most peculiar sense of relief and dread when she recognized Rick's voice.

She was in the hospital. That seemed… familiar. But why? That part was hazy.

She had a vague memory of an ambulance ride. She remembered nurses taking her vitals and trading words like hypothermia, hypoglycemia and hyperventilation. They asked her question after question about the most mundane things. She had thought she heard Tyreese and Noah by her bedside. It all seemed like a bad dream, though. She expected to wake up in her bed, not under the heavy white hospital-provided blankets that covered her now.

Even in her murky recollection and uncertainty of the entire situation, knowing Rick was there made her sure that everything was okay… at least until he knew she was awake. After that, Michonne was pretty sure a lockdown was imminent. She so did not want to hear a lecture, but she couldn't deny, this was the very thing he'd warned her about before he left. He told her to wait for him to get back, so they could do the big things together for their first and last Christmas in the condo and she agreed. But she wondered now if maybe she'd been... excessive.

She continued to play possum as she listened to his phone conversation.

"No. They're fine. The babies are doing great." It was hard to explain, but Michonne knew her babies were fine. She could just sense the blessing of their existence still aglow inside her, but when she heard Rick confirm it, she breathed a little easier. "She fainted... exhaustion. She was dehydrated and… Yeah… Oh, trust me I will… She's got a sprained wrist and a bump on the head. They don't know how long she was out there, but the hypothermia is under control. The concussion is what they're most concerned about. They got her under observation."

Hearing Rick discuss her condition with the unknown caller was like an out of body experience. She thanked God it wasn't. She didn't move a muscle or make a peep as she latched onto his voice,

"Yeah. Don't worry. I don't think you need to come down here. She's sleeping anyway… They said sleeping will help her brain recover. Just gotta wake her up every coupl'a hours."

Michonne heard Rick coming to the end of his call. When he hung up the phone she realized he was holding her other hand as he groaned through a yawn and stretched his limbs just a little. She wondered how long she had been in the hospital and how long he'd been there beside her. She was so sorry for the scare she'd surely given him. It wasn't just her in the hospital, it was his babies too. She knew she'd be pissed if the tables were turned and he was in a hospital bed.

She heard the feet of the chair he sat in scrape across the floor, closer to her bed. She felt him rest his forehead in the bend of her hip and wrap his arm around her, under her bottom. He pulled her closer to his face while he kept her right hand cradled in his left.

Even though he'd just reassured whoever he'd spoken to that she and the babies were fine, Michonne could feel the anxiety wrapped around him like layers of duct tape trapping him in an uncomfortable position- one where he knew her safety had been compromised.

She could feel the worry in his tense grip on her and then she heard the pain in his quivering voice as he began to sing quietly into the core of her body. It was a simple, happy melody but it came from Rick's throat with a melancholy quality. It was a song she'd never heard him sing before and she listened closely to the words in the darkness of her shut eyes.

" _ **I remember the day that I met you**_

 _ **As clear as the blue in your eyes**_

 _ **I knew from the moment I saw you**_

 _ **We'd have a love for all time**_

 _ **Now year after year it still growin'**_

 _ **Like the flower that blooms on the vine**_

 _ **Oh, say that you'll love me forever**_

 _ **Sweetheart darlin' of mine**_

 _ **Sweetheart darlin' of mine**_

 _ **I'd search this world over and I'd never find**_

 _ **A love as true or as kind**_

 _ **Sweetheart darlin' of mine"**_

Though she clamped her eyes shut with all her might, Michonne felt the tears slipping from her lashes. A million blossoms of emotion sprang up in her chest. The beautiful lyrics and the soft bass of Rick's delivery clenched at her heart and settled in the pit of her stomach. She felt the vibrations move through her as real as if love had an actual chord, a certain pitch that only Rick could reach.

Then she felt it again - a swat…

and again- a knock…

and again- a wallop.

It felt like someone inside her was trying to get their attention.

"Ow!" She finally spoke up startled by a very forceful kick and Rick jumped mid-note to save her from whatever pain she was in.

"Chonne, what's wrong? I need to get the nurse?"

Michonne shook her head. "I'm fine." she said as she sat up a little and felt a dizzying knock in her head, but there were no babies up there- just a more than usual rattled brain. She felt the damage done to her body now. Her entire right side, from her shoulder to her hip, was sore and she winced as her body disagreed with her every movement. "I think you have some little fans in here." She pulled his hand up to her belly and positioned it where she'd felt the movement.

Rick waited for the experience with a cautious smile. But nothing happened.

After a few moments of inactivity Michonne suggested, "Sing that song again. What's it called?"

"Sweetheart, Darlin' of Mine."

"Yeah. I think they like it. How's the rest of it go?"

" _ **I can't tell what this life has to offer**_

 _ **Or just what tomorrow will hold"**_

"Come closer. Sing it to them." Rick's crystal blues looked to Michonne in question and she waved him into her middle.

" _ **But I know this old world will keep spinnin'**_

 _ **And together someday we'll grow old"**_

Michonne felt a little wiggle on her right side and she quickly laid Rick's palm to the spot with her good arm. Then after a brusque conk on her left she impelled him to put both hands on her belly, thumb to thumb, his long fingers splayed over her hospital gown. He laughed at the shifting little bodies inside Momma Michonne.

"Hey, babies. It's your daddy." He said on a kiss to her round middle. "Which side is Relish, and which one is Steak?"

"Um… Relish" Michonne pointed. "And Steak. Steak is the bad one."

"Steak ain't bad. Just wild… like someone else I know." As soon as he said it the baby kicked under his hand.

"Not." Michonne corrected him. "Steak is _your_ baby. Me and Relish will be chillin' while you chase Steak around the house."

"Okay. Fine. You hear that Steak?" Rick spoke to her belly, covering his mouth with his hand on a scheming smirk. "Me and you gonna rule the house." Relish responded with a Steak-like strike at the sound of that and Rick and Michonne cracked up and the quiet one's defiance.

The first little signs of life in her expanding belly were enough to make his eyes damp and make his day. He didn't think he'd be laughing so soon after one of the scariest moments of his life. But here he was, not only laughing, but singing, too.

" _ **Every evenin' the stars will keep burnin'**_

 _ **Every mornin' the sun will still shine**_

 _ **Just as long as I have you beside me**_

 _ **Sweetheart darlin' of mine"**_

Rick and Michonne played tag with Relish and Steak for about ten minutes until the twins tuckered and tapped out. It was the perfect icebreaker for what Michonne knew could have been a strictly serious, stern talking to. But her stowaways had saved the day and she filed this moment away to describe it to the twins when they're old enough to understand how daddy sang to them and they danced to the music.

"I love that song, Rick." Michonne smiled warmly and leaned her head back against the bed. "Who sings that?"

"It's a song my father used to sing. Remember I told you, he was part of a bluegrass band? He taught me and Dwight to sing it when we were little. I don't know if he wrote it or the woman who fronted the band did." He dropped his head, "But I know my mother would never let us sing it. I think my father had an affair with that woman, might've been part of the reason he killed himself. I guess nobody knows now but my mother."

"You ever ask her about it?"

"When I was younger. That conversation ended with me getting slapped across the face. So I never brought it up again…" He shrugged. The thought of losing his father made him think of how much worse it would be to lose her. He cleared his throat and took her hand in his again, "Michonne?"

 _Shit. Playtime is over_ , she thought.

She saw him, head bowed, eyes raised to hers and ready to speak. She could see in his eyes that whatever he was about to say was going to be heavy. He raked his fingers through his hair on an impatient twitch to say his piece.

She had stalled her tongue-lashing as long as she could. She could see his disappointment in the harsh way his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. She knew she had to face the music, but before he went in for the kill, she intercepted his remarks with her own words that she thought might, somehow, keep his mood as sweet as his song.

They ended up talking over one another, saying the same thing.

"I'm sorry, baby."

"Rick, I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I had a lot of time to think, on the trip back here and sittin' at your side. I shouldn't have left you. I got enough people right now, I don't have to go so far away from you. I had a bad feelin' 'bout it, but I just tried to shake it."

His chest rose high with a deliberate sigh and he slumped back in his chair like he'd been waiting so long to say those words. She could see now; the disappointment was with himself. Michonne was rendered speechless at his apology. She just sat there, connected to him by his big strong hand and her tired brown eyes.

Her lips were parted to give him reprieve, but she also wanted to hear what he would say. She couldn't believe he was asking her forgiveness. It was crazy talk as far as she was concerned, but also amazing. She listened with a wrinkled brow as he continued,

"I know you're used to doin' thangs your way… I didn't want to be a bully… or lay down rules..." he made an air quote with his free hand as he said the word disdainfully, "… for you like I'm the boss. It's easy for me to do since that's my job and I'm a father. I'm used to bein' in control. I'm always in protection mode. I tried to balance that, and I guess I didn't do a very good job. My solution for that was to give you your space and literally mind my business while you handled yours. It's easier to compartmentalize that way. That's how I stayed with Lori so long. It works, but not for us… not for two people who love each other."

He was upset that his approach to handling Michonne had been influenced by his relationship with Lori. Again, Lori was affecting the woman he loved and this time he was the one who put her in this position. Rick was dissatisfied but determined to do better. He had devised a plan of action as she slept but he needed her help to make it work.

"Michonne, I think me getting on your nerves right now is inevitable. So, I'm going to accept that... as much as I don't like those looks you give me when I worry about you. We'll both have to accept that until we get used to it, I guess. Because I'm not leaving you alone for any length of time again. Daryl, Tara… they can handle all the out of town work. So, I hope you'll work with me here and understand that I love you, Relish and Steak…" he smiled, still loving how the mention of their silly monikers could lighten a serious moment. "If I piss you off, forgive me and I'll try to trust your judgement and give you room to do what you need to do… unless you're being ridiculous."

"More of the inevitable." She rolled her eyes and found the opportunity to joke about her known disposition. "Now, can I say something to you?"

Rick picked up on her tone and wondered what was left to say, but he nodded, ready to hear her out.

"I am sorry I make you feel that way… like you can't be there for me without me giving you attitude. At some point, I actually see me getting my act all the way together, Rick. I swear. Just keep showing me the way. I might buck a little here and there…"

Rick scoffed at her underestimation of the amount of pushback she gives, and she corrected herself.

"Okay. I buck a lot. But I love you and Relish and Steak." She rubbed her belly with a sleepy smile and gave him a certain look. "I love those lips, too."

Rick shook his head and leaned forward with a kiss that Michonne did not hesitate to deepen. Pulling him closer by the scruff on his face. "Does that door lock?" She asked him between hungry kisses, guiding his hand to the apex of her thighs.

Rick cut his eyes to the blonde wood hospital door but kept his lips on hers. He mumbled disappointedly. "No. Sorry. No lock."

"Maybe you could use that chair to block it." she suggested breathlessly as she pulled the front of his shirt from his pants.

"I don't think that'll work."

"Rick, I'm just putting on this charade of discretion for your sake. You know I really don't care who comes in here and sees us, I miss you and this is happening."

Rick's cheeks burned at the brazen declaration of his concussed little minx. Before she could talk him into a compromising situation, a rap at the door had him licking her sweet kisses from his lips and composing himself while she sat rolling her eyes.

When Rick called for the visitor to enter the room, his eyes went on a roll of their own as Dr. Gabe walked in with a concerned expression on his otherwise flawless face.

"Michonne. I'm glad to see you awake. I heard you were here and I came right away." He shook her hand. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel okay, I guess. My head is killing me though."

"Don't worry. I'm here, now. I had the admitting doctor transfer you to my workload, so I could be sure you get what you need… Rick." The doctor seemed to have totally overlooked her fiancé. He gave a firm shake of his hand in greeting and quickly turned his attention back to Michonne. "The most we can do for your pain is Tylenol. Sorry. Ultimately, you need to rest." He said with a sort of self-satisfied air and threw his eyes to Rick again. "Maybe having visitors isn't so helpful, right now."

"Oh, I'm not a _visitor_. Consider me staff. I'll be up here 'til she goes home." Rick said with bold defiance, folding his arms across his chest.

"Good. She needs someone to take care of her." Gabriel gave an excessive nod. Then continued as if his next words were an afterthought, "Where were you when this happened? I hear they peeled our girl off the ground when the temperature was 20 degrees."

Rick fumed at the incriminating question and the audacity of Gabe to refer to his woman as _their_ girl.

He held his tongue to keep things civil.

"He was working, out of town." Michonne answered for him, happy to brag about his work ethic. "He does security work and he had a very hard to please client scheduled for this weekend way before he knew I was pregnant. He had to be there to make sure everything went right."

"It can be hard striking a work/home balance." Gabriel commented, standing on the opposite side of Michonne's bed, speaking to Rick but looking squarely at her. Rick's eyes were trained on the good doctor in a barely perceptible glower. Dr. Stokes cracked a guilty smile. "That used to be a problem for me when I was a young doctor. Can't be a workaholic, buddy. Everybody loses like that."

"No. He's not a workaholic. In fact, we were just talking about how he's going to delegate some of his responsibilities at work. Right, babe?" Michonne smiled, proud of their progress in such a short period of time. She held her hand out to Rick and his hand slowly made the trip to hers as he kept an intense beleaguered eye on Gabriel.

Hearing only the wisdom the doctor was imparting she was unaware that Rick felt like he was being challenged in this moment. She assumed the pinch of Rick's face was due to Gabe's unintentional cockblock and nothing more.

"Good to hear. Okay, well like I said, you should be able to go home tomorrow if your condition doesn't worsen at all. And I don't think it will. You're a tough cookie but if you don't want to end up on bedrest you have to stay hydrated, eat more frequently, like little healthy snacks throughout the day and get at least eight hours of sleep at night."

"And what about sex?" Michonne asked effortlessly and lamented, "It's been almost three days. I miss him… and I heard orgasms can help with pain."

Rick had gone red when Michonne went rogue, asking Miss Viv about their bedroom escapades. But now he smiled at Michonne's uninhibited sexual queries. He felt his chest swell as her question reminded Dr. Gabe who Michonne wanted to wrap those gorgeous legs around, who she wanted deep inside her. He licked his lips reminding himself that he was the last man alive, the only one, that would ever taste how sweet she was.

Rick began a light massage of her neck and scanned Gabe's face for any sign that might alert him to just how much of the doctor's perceived advances he may have been taking out of context in light of this new-found jealousy.

"I'd suggest that you two wait until you get home for that, but far be it from me to discourage natural pain management. My mother swears by it. Ah! Which reminds me..." Dr. Stokes reached into the big square pocket of his lab coat and pulled out a low-rise, maroon lace thong with peek-a-boo cut-outs. "This got separated from your shopping bags in the ambulance ride over here." He stroked the scanty fabric between his finger and thumb. He was smiling as he handed it over to Michonne, almost reluctantly, like it was a keepsake. "They're very nice but, forty dollars?" he commented on the price tag, "For so little coverage?"

His words seemed to echo a comment Lori made when the cashier rang up Michonne's purchases. Rick's ex-wife had called the intimate apparel a waste of money and Michonne promised her with heavy innuendo that, though she probably wouldn't wear them long, they would definitely be worth the money.

Michonne had forgotten all about being with Lori earlier that day but the entire unpleasant memory rushed back to her now. She wouldn't doubt that some of the pain in her head was residual from being with that woman for more than ten minutes.

But now that she remembered, she wondered if Rick knew. She was almost certain that she hadn't mentioned being with Lori to Tyreese or anyone else. She decided she wouldn't say anything about that unless it came up.

That was something she did for Carl, she concluded. Besides it was already done, the outing had gone as well as could be expected. There would never be another one and there was no need for Rick to get worked up about it.

It was a good thing, too, because Rick was already worked up at the moment. After being slapped in the face with seeing Gabriel walking around with Michonne's underwear in his pocket, he absolutely attributed it to more than just innocent helpfulness. He was ready for the smiling OB to move on to his other patients before Rick had to move him.

"Thanks for gettin' this back to us." Rick took the tiny thong, balling it up in his fist so tight his knuckles turned white. "I'm sure you're busy and like you said, she needs her rest." He nodded, indicating the exit and the doctor left without much ado, promising to check in again after a couple hours.

With her time spent with Rick's ex replaying in her mind, Michonne was now curious about everything that had happened since she passed out in that parking lot. Rick told her what he knew. Which wasn't really much since he spent most of his time in the air trying to get back to her.

After Tyreese tried and failed to get in touch with Michonne to let her know he was on the way to give her a hand with her decorations, he called Rick. Rick called Michonne and curse words turned to silent worry when he kept getting her voicemail. By the time he got the call from the ER as her next of kin, he was already at the airport boarding his flight.

He called Tyreese who was waiting with her at the hospital with Noah until Rick got there. Once Tyreese found out Michonne was going to be okay, he called Sasha who was stuck at home with Duke's ear infection. Then he called Shane who was in California to visit Andrea's mother for the holidays.

Andrea called Maggie, who had gone to bed hours ago. But when she got up for a trip to the bathroom, she noticed her phone blinking on the nightstand. She saw the first unread text and called Rick in a hurry. He'd just hung up with her when Michonne was waking up.

Rick spent the next few hours sleeping in the chair beside her bed, while she slept, curled up around their coupled hands. And when she was given the okay to go home, at Michonne's insistence, they were out of there 20 minutes after she signed her discharge papers. Home with Rick was the only place she wanted to be.

* * *

"What the hell, 'Chonne!" Rick stood in the doorway of their apartment equally amazed and irate at his woman. As he helped her get her coat off his eyes were plastered on the 15-foot Christmas tree standing tall and bare, blocking the balcony's view to the city. A tall ladder was beside it and open boxes of ornaments, packing peanuts and paper were everywhere. "How the hell did you get this tree in here?"

"I rented a crane. They brought it in through the balcony." She said indifferently, not even acknowledging his outrage.

Her concern was the state of their home. She'd forgotten what a mess the place was when she rushed out to the mall. She was impossibly disappointed that he wasn't witnessing the finished product she had visualized in her head. She tried to pick up some of the litter strewn across the floor and got woozy from bending over. She plopped down into one of the dining chairs and looked up at the tree with Rick, who was still stuck in his spot by the front door.

"A damn crane?" Rick tilted his head to understand. He felt like he was in an alternate universe.

"Michonne, sweetie…"

"Like a medium-sized crane." She interrupted to clarify.

Her tired fiancé tried to keep his cool, "We bought an eight-foot tree before I left. What was wrong with that one?"

"Nothing." Michonne answered easily. "I put it up in the loft." She could see he was angry, but she didn't know why. She innocently reminded him, "You said I could do whatever I wanted with the decorations."

"How'd you get that up there?" He said looking up to the loft at the fully decorated tree, in total shock. Before she could answer him, he agreed, "Yes, baby. I said do whatever you want. But I also said to wait for _me_ to do the _big_ stuff."

"I did wait for you!"

Rick was baffled. "Michonne, this tree is nearly touchin' the ceilin'."

"And I was gonna let you and Carl put the star at the top… and we still have to wrap presents… stuff like that is the big part of Christmas!"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, "Michonne, I meant the big things as in size… level of difficulty, hard to handle. Not big traditions. Big things like '12-foot ladder' big… like 'I need a crane to get this in the apartment' big!" He finally raised his voice and octave, tossing a hand to the evergreen behemoth in front of them.

"Well, there was a miscommunication, obviously!" She snatched up a small decorative box that was in arm's reach on the table and lobbed it at him with her left hand. The makeshift missile missed him completely and Rick turned to watch it land with a skid on the floor behind him. He looked back to her with a face that said 'really?'

Michonne found her wayward pitch comical but Rick wasn't laughing. "Look." She took a deep breath and stood up, walking past him down the hall. Michonne grabbed his hand and pulled him along behind her into their room. "I think we're both a little on edge because we haven't seen each other… Besides, I waited for you to do the biggest thing." She said pushing him back onto the bed and disappearing into the closet.

He ran his hand across his face, then through his hair when he saw, to his astonishment, the dazzle of yet _another_ new tree in front of the bedroom's sliding balcony doors. He decided not to broach the subject.

"What's the biggest thing?" he asked with a scoff, taking off his coat, shoes and shirt. He sighed, in his t-shirt and jeans, waiting for her to respond.

Michonne came out of the closet in that deep red thong and the bra to match. Her voice was sweet and sultry as she paused for emphasis through her answer, "That... big... fat… dick…"

Rick couldn't help but be tickled at the way she always maintained her one-track mind. "What're you doin'?" He asked her, knowing the answer full well.

"You…" she pointed to him, turning her back to him and winked over her shoulder. "...more specifically, that big package you brought home for me."

She modeled the skimpy set for him in a pair of honey gold pumps. Her growing pouch of a tummy sat over the elegant trim. Her hips swayed, and Rick couldn't help but have an egotistical thought taking in her loveliness.

His mind wandered to what Dr. Gabriel would say if he could see her now in those panties… so ready and so begging for _him_.

Shane was right: He was always winning.

"And, to be clear, I mean big as in size…" She said keeping him locked in her sights with her bedroom browns as she sashayed towards him. "Level of difficulty…" She straddled him slowly, pecking at his soft pink lips as he grinned at her mischief. She repeated his words back to him, "... _hard_ to handle…" her tongue snaked out tracing where she'd just placed her kiss. "Big things like '12 inches' big…" She cradled in her hands the bump in his pants sitting under the bump of her belly and stroked his loaded erection through his denim.

"It ain't 12 inches." Rick said modestly, thinking about how she could barely handle what he really had.

"Give or take." she shrugged with her unique brand of charm.

"Pull it out." he instructed her, leaning forward into her ear.

She joked again with a snicker, "...I'd need a crane ..."

He loved her sense of humor, such a quick wit and it was a funny one-liner, but he didn't laugh. He was mesmerized, caught up in the worship of her. To laugh as his heart beat out little prayers of love would have been irreverent.

Slowly, he leaned back on his elbows and thrusted his hips, making her giggle as he bounced her in his lap. The look in her drowsy eyes and the delirium of her giddy shriek made him groan in his need to be deep inside her.

"Pull it out." Rick whispered, more adamantly.

Both their eyes fell on the thick outline of his dick stretching, twitching and trickling against his thigh. He bounced her again against his hips, but this time there was no laughter as the mood turned more methodical. He raised his huge hand to her pretty face and wrapped his wide, rough grip around her chin and cheeks. Her heart fluttered violently as he silently demanded the she look at him, tossing her to sink or swim in the blue pools of his eyes.

She sank.

Falling into a needy kiss, her pampered hands skated over the cotton fabric covering the firm condition of his chest, down his rocky abs to his long hot dick. She pulled it against her mound, bringing his smooth fat head to rest just above her navel.

Michonne parted her lips on a gasp as she started to grind her clit persistently against the length of him. She ignored the pain in her arm and put her weight on it, bracing herself behind her, against his knee. ''I'm sorry I made you worry, Rick. But I'm glad you're home now." She said in all honesty. "I missed you, daddy."

"That's okay, baby." Rick watched her massage her clit with his hardness and decided, if she wanted to apologize, the best way would be… "Let me watch you cum, Chonne. Show me how much you missed me." He said with a deep, dirty tone that made Michonne leak her love all over him, soaking her panties. The knit of the lace against her swollen sensitive nub made a heavenly friction as she used his rigid shaft to pleasure herself. "You want to cum for daddy so bad, don't you?"

"Yes, Rick!" she hissed.

She wanted to feel him stretching her walls with his taxing girth. She wanted that so bad and she knew that was another inevitability. Right now, though, the weight of him solid in her hand was like wielding a magic wand. There were so many ways to indulge, so many different means to bewitch her body using his and effectively cast a spell: being held in his arms, being nuzzled by his nose, sitting on his face. There was also this: rubbing one out against him like a bear scratches an itch with the trunk of a tree.

Before he invaded her depths with his almighty dick, she wanted to feel the weight of it in her palm, the shape of it, the slight curve of it, the ridges, the width of its base, it's beefy mushroomed peak. She coated him in the slippery richness of his pre-cum, massaging, caressing and just holding his ripe cock against her sopping slit. She rolled and rocked, driving her hypersensitive knot of tension against the volcanic tool in her grasp.

"Go 'head, 'Chonne. Do whatever feels good to that pussy. I won't stop you." He whispered, "I won't interrupt. I just want to watch you feel good. Look at you." He smirked, his blue eyes glittering brighter than the lights on the tree behind her. "You gonna do it for me, Chonne? You gonna cum?"

"Mmm… Yes, Rick… yes, daddy. Yes!"

Rick was still reclined, he hadn't lifted a finger. He was absorbed in her ecstasy unfolding on every corner of her face and listening to the sounds of her messy swelter of a pussy moistening for him more and more. He heard her reaching the end of the line.

"Fuckin' look at you. Listen to that pussy. You're so wet." Her bottom lip was between her teeth. The pressure in her ears was starting to build. Her vision was getting blurry. "Soon as you come, Imma make you come again. You know that, right?"

"Shit! Say it again, daddy."

He slapped her ass, hard enough to raise a welt. "As soon as you cum, Imma put this dick in you and fuck you 'til you scream."

Michonne melted with a visceral sob as she burst like a balloon full of confetti. Before she could fill her lungs again, she was on her back. Rick gave a bearish yank to the seat of her thong. He heard the item that Gabriel seemed so obsessed with rip and he grit his teeth with a curl of his upper lip in a big _fuck you_ to the doctor.

"Rick!" Michonne glanced down between their bodies and gasped at the feel of her thong popping apart. She looked at him and saw the satisfaction on his face as he pushed her legs open wide and penetrated her slick opening without hesitation. Her eyes rolled back as she lost her breath to him finally connecting with her fully.

"I'll buy you sum'more." He promised her through winded grunts, thrusting hard against her bruised body.

She found that she liked the mix of pleasure and pain and she encouraged his rough treatment of her. "Just keep..." her words stalled as he rattled her frame, " ...fucking me, Rick... please!"

She had been worried that as her belly grew it would change the way he handled her. Michonne liked to be fucked. She liked him savage. She liked him wild. She didn't want him polite. She didn't want manners. She wanted him lost and unable to keep his cool.

He knew that's what she wanted and he couldn't help himself from giving it to her. Rick tunneled into her narrow slick canal. With his cock snug inside her pussy, pounding away at her core, he smiled as her face twisted and her beautiful mouth gifted him with the most deliciously tortured moans.

"Harder!" She begged him, and he complied. Each knock drove her closer to the edge of the side of the bed and closer to another more powerful release. He made her quiver with the scratchy kisses he supplied to her neck and collarbone. He palmed her breast, then bit at the plump flesh there through the embroidery of her bra and made her cry out sweetly.

"Yeah. Take it." He said proudly in a whisper at her throat. He felt the proof of her coming climax and his balls braced to yield his thick warm seed inside her velvety center.

"I love you so much, Rick!"

"I love you too, baby. So fuckin' much."

"I need you, daddy!" She pledged, clawing at the neck of his shirt. "Harder!"

Rick was there again. His face took on a tranquil expression as he studied the way she lost control under his power. He was in that spot that made both of them turn to steam in the heat and wetness of their connection. And one more steely thrust vaporized them together to the sound of Michonne's throaty scream and Rick's carnal growl.

He kissed her lips a dozen times and then chuckled through his shallow breaths as he joined her in her view of the ceiling, "I can't believe you rented a crane."

Michonne was still swimming in euphoria. She had an elbow in the air, one hand cradling her cranium, pleased with the weakened severity of the ache there. The other hand cupped her ravished sex, pleased with the exquisite ache he left there. She replied to his disbelief with her own, "I can't believe you thought one tree would be enough."


	32. Chapter 32

_**Hi Guys. Hope you all enjoyed your holiday. I've been typing furiously to get this update to you today. Thanks so much for all the crazy, funny, encouraging reviews! This one review from Trinrichonnetrash made this chapter a little longer. This was her request:**_

 _ **That evil witch Lori deserves to burn. But before she does I somehow need her to witness Richonne sex. I dont know how it could happen but the petty in me needs this to happen to see and feel devastated at how insatiable Rick is for Michonne and vice versa. Crush her spirit. Im ready for Lori to get a dose of her own medicine.**_

 _ **A lot of you guys have been eager to see some type of comeuppance for Lori. She's about to be a memory very soon, but before we say goodbye to your "best friend"... have this chapter. Don't say I never gave you nothing. LOL**_

* * *

Michonne finally did get Tyreese and Noah to her place to help Rick put up the rest of the decorations all over the apartment. Karen even tagged along. When Rick criticized the sensibleness of a 15-foot tree in a hi-rise apartment for the male dominated audience that was present, Michonne watched with amusement as Karen took her side of the issue. Tyreese tried to remain neutral, balancing between how he really felt about his sister's penchant for flamboyance and the delighted look in his new girlfriend's eyes as she looked up at the massive yuletide prop. Michonne thought it was very cute.

What was not cute was the careless way her free help put up her seasonal flair. It took a serious amount of willpower to leave some things off center or crooked after multiple attempts to guide the guys in the right direction. She wore her face tight with an obligatory smile while she internally vowed that next year she would pay her team at work to do this for her.

She talked to Karen about her upcoming wedding and recent trip to the hospital as her backdrop became increasingly more green and glittery. She had fresh long needle pine garland everywhere- above the kitchen cabinets, over the balcony windows, the railing on the balcony and steps to the loft. She must've bought about a mile worth in length, all embedded with sparkling orbs of various sizes and shades of blue. The saturation of navy, sapphire, cornflower, electric and sky blues were a nod to her favorite pair of eyes.

The place smelled like a forest and looked like one, too. Like the kind of forest where some magical princess fairy floated around being excessive all day.

"Oh, Okay. I see you turned this whole place into the actual planet Pandora… got Hometree in the living room and everything…" Carl nodded acceptingly, teasing Michonne with an Avatar reference about the size of the tree looming over the fireplace and seating area. He walked into the apartment and right into Michonne's arms and belly. Rick came in behind him with the rest of his bags.

"He comes bearing jokes." Michonne rolled her excited eyes. "Don't forget I have you a whole month. You can get the full B.M.E. or we can be chill. Your choice."

"I want to be chill." He surrendered. "I've seen A.J. get it from Sasha, so I'll pass. Thanks."

"What's the B.M.E.?" Rick asked laughing along with them, not really getting the joke, as he took off his coat.

"It's the Black Mom Experience." Michonne told him, kissing his lips and taking his coat. "And if you decline," Michonne turned her attention back to Carl, "that means I don't have to cook either." Carl groaned, rethinking his choice. "Hey, you gotta take the bad with the good."

"No, babe. We _definitely_ want the Black Mom Experience!" Rick spoke up eagerly.

"Dad!" Carl shook his head at how easily Michonne could plant Rick right where she wanted him. But Young Skywalker was ready to call Michonne's bluff. "She's not gonna _not_ cook because first of all she eats more of the food than we do." Carl gave her a sideways glance.

Michonne dropped her jaw and pointed to her belly, in silent explanation of her appetite.

"And don't blame being pregnant. Remember that time you ate that large deep-dish pizza all by yourself."

Michonne defended herself, "Not in one sitting."

"Only because you started on the couch and finished in the bed." Rick debunked her claim with a chuckle as he began to lug the bags he carried to Carl's room.

She smacked Rick's butt as he walked by. "Well, my body was preparing to get pregnant because your dad's so cute."

Carl closed his eyes and sighed, embarrassed for them all, but validated on his next point. "And that's the second reason you'll be cooking. Because you love it when dad is all," Carl rubbed his stomach and did his hammy impression of Rick, "Mmm Mmm, baby this is SO good! Coulda charged me and I'da paid! What ya put in this? Mmm Mmm! Baby, everythang ya touch tastes like heaven! I swear…"

"Ha ha ha…" Rick cut him off as he came back down the hall and swatted Michonne's butt for laughing. He was completely over people doing impressions of him that made him sound country as well water. "Alright… why don't you take the rest of your stuff to the back and unpack your bags... check out the tree Michonne put up in your room?"

Based on the size of the trees he could readily see, Carl imagined his tiny room in their condo overrun with branches and lights. He sounded concerned as he made his way there, "But a tree won't fit in there. There's barely room to pull out the couch!"

He stood at the door and found the sleeper sofa gone, replaced with a neatly made up loft bed. Underneath, he saw the tree twinkling with blinking lightsabers, and just about every Star Wars themed ornament she could find.

"Got rid of that sofa. I wanted you to sleep in a real bed since you'll be here more than a weekend." She said as he marveled at everything he saw. "Your tree is the smallest in the house." She told him, standing at his side and throwing her arm around his neck. "But it's the one that took the most work. You like?"

Though he was far from the kind of person who'd countdown the days until Christmas, he couldn't even pretend to be nonchalant about this grand gesture, "The whole place looks great." he said, meaning every word. He hugged her ungracefully with a cheesy exaggerated smile and made her giggle when he said, "I love you, black mom!"

* * *

 _ **People making lists, buying special gifts;**_

 _ **It's a time to be kind to one and all.**_

 _ **It's that time of year when good friends are dear,**_

 _ **And you wish you could give more**_

 _ **Than just a present from a store.**_

The Temptations were singing _Give Love on Christmas Day_ over the giggling conversations at the large dining room table. The entire surface was overflowing with wrapping material scraps, where Carl, Rick and Michonne sat working to cover the brand new toys they would give to the local Child and Family Services office. Big black trash bags sat next to each of them as they made their way through the hundred or so gifts.

Glenn had really come through this year with his new title and connections at work. There were a good number of gaming systems and video games being donated. But the rest of the things they were giving were from their group's combined efforts.

Another added bonus was that this year Tara's team got in on the venture and nearly doubled the amount of gifts. Michonne was so excited to have all this support for their cause and Rick was enjoying the feeling of doing something so selfless for kids that he envisioned as little Tyreeses, Michonnes, Sashas and Shanes.

Rick was asking Carl what he thought about Negan, since he'd met his mother's new boyfriend. Carl said he was okay, which was a gracious description seeing as the teenager had barely said anything to the guy… mainly because he couldn't get a word in.

"You know how you say some people love the sound of their own voice, dad?" Rick nodded. "This guy loves the sound of his own voice… I don't care. I don't have much to say to him anyway." Carl shrugged.

"I know who you do have a lot to say to…" Michonne interrupted the necessary father/son conversation that had really been over five minutes ago. "Miss Emoji." She said, calling Carl's new girlfriend the nickname she'd given her for all the sentences Michonne had spied the girl making, solely using yellow faces and weird pictures.

"So, what's this girl like?" Rick asked Carl about the girl he'd been texting constantly. "Enid, right?"

"She's cool." Carl blushed.

"Cooler than the tree in your room?"

"It's a tie." he finally said with a smirk, earning him a adhesive bow to the face from Michonne.

With his family, Carl felt he was in a safe space to stick to wrapping all the Barbie dolls without getting any flack. The rectangular boxes were small and easy to handle as he folded and creased the paper like Michonne had shown him. She sat taping corners to perfection and singing what lyrics she knew of the song. Every time she messed up a word, Carl made a buzzing sound, she'd smile through a little shrug and resort to humming for a few notes before the urge to sing tripped her up again.

 _ **Why don't you give love on Christmas day?**_

 _ **Oh, the man on the street and the couple upstairs**_

 _ **All need to know that someone cares.**_

 _ **Give love on Christmas day.**_

"Oh, yeah… I was going to text you, but I wanted to tell you thanks in person." Carl said as he sliced his scissors along the surface of shiny red wrapping paper in one fluid motion. "Thanks for helping my mom with my gifts."

"What?" Michonne asked in earnest, not completely catching everything he said.

"I know you helped my mom buy that stuff for me. There's no way she would have pick what she gave me unless you helped her."

Michonne looked at Rick, who was looking at Carl with a curious but purposely benign expression. She could see he was eager to hear more about what Carl was saying but in true Rick Grimes fashion, he didn't interrogate, he just observed and listened.

"Did she tell you that I helped her?" Michonne asked cautiously to see what exactly Carl knew. She looked to Rick again and now his burning blues were on _her_ as he tied a ribbon around a gift.

Carl laughed. "No. But I know. I mean, come on. Last year she got me Transformers bed sheets and some school supplies. This year…"

"That doesn't mean I helped her." Michonne tried to throw doubt on his conclusion without telling an outright lie, "Maybe your aunt helped her. Your cousins are around your age."

"My cousins would have been hyped if they got Transformer sheets and school supplies."

"Ew." Michonne spoke her gut reaction to that information. She knew Carl didn't love to go over there and he'd explained that his cousins were lame, but it wasn't until now that Michonne understood the extent of lameness he was being forced to endure whenever he spent time at his Aunt's house.

"I know." Carl judged her reaction appropriate. "Obviously you're the only person who would know the brands and colors I wanted, So I'm just saying thanks for all that stuff. Enid really liked that jacket. Besides, I knew mom was out shopping Saturday. I called her when she left the mall. I heard the GPS say turn left on White Oak Parkway. She was acting really shady too, like she didn't want me to know what she was doing, or who she was with." He said smiling at his investigative skills as he put another wrapped doll to the side of his work space. "Oh, and thanks for letting Michonne go with mom, dad. I know you always think something tragic will happen if Michonne is ever around mom. But I think the curse might finally be lifted."

Now Rick looked to Michonne with a pondering survey of her body language. She gave a dry chuckle to Carl's little joke and took an impulsive sip of her cocoa. Rick didn't say anything to Carl. He wanted him to keep talking.

Michonne's heart was pounding. Carl didn't know anything about Michonne being in the hospital. Michonne and Rick didn't want to upset him. When he asked about the elastic bandage around her wrist, she had simply said she fell. He asked if the babies were okay and then had no more follow up questions. Now, he couldn't seem to shut up.

 _You always think something tragic will happen_. Her mind echoed Carl's words. Rick was always fucking right.

The rhythmic jingle of bells and electric guitar announced the change of song. It was always one of her favorites but this Christmas it had knew meaning for her. It had played a few times since they'd woken up to her holiday playlist.

"Shh Shh Shh, everybody! Otis is back on!" She took the opportunity to quell this untimely conversation about Lori with an impromptu performance of _Merry Christmas Baby_. Michonne swayed with a bounce in her chair and started singing along with 60's crooner,

" _Merry Christmas baby. Sure do treat me nice."_ Michonne used her scissors as a microphone, singing into the handle. She held out the pretend mic across the table to Carl who was already bopping along having fell in love with the song initially for Michonne's sake. He sang in call-back fashion as she repeated, _"Merry Christmas baby…"_

" _Sure do treat me nice."_

She pulled the mic back to her lips and stood up in her fuzzy black pajama pants and white fitted t-shirt, that no longer fit. She coquettishly twirled a loc around her finger in performance with a wide white smile in Rick's direction. She ignored his bothered behavior regarding the news about her and Lori, sticking out her left hand and wiggling the pretty bauble on one particular finger. She continued with the song, " _Bought me a diamond ring for Christmas, I feel like I'm in paradise."_

Rick's face remained stoic, but he reached for her and kissed the back of her hand to play along. Carl was looking down at his task, singing to the music, _"_ _I feel mighty fine, y'all"_ not paying any mind to his dad and Michonne. He saw this foolish conduct between them so much it didn't even register anymore.

Michonne put the scissors down, dancing with her brooding, still seated, fiancé's fingers intertwined with her's on her left hand. With her right hand, she pointed over at Carl in time with the beat as she took the next line _"I've got music on my radio."_

" _Feel mighty fine, gir-r-r-l_ " Carl added in his own little run, smiling at Michonne.

" _I've got music on my radio,"_ Michonne wiggled her hips on the " _Oh, Oh, Oh"_ She let Rick go in favor of another prop. A length of wide red ribbon that she flipped over her head to her back and shimmied between the two ends, " _I feel like I'm gonna kiss you standing beneath that mistletoe."_

She lowered the trim and made a bow around her rounded belly and Rick kissed her there as well with a stony face. She finally pulled him up out of his seat and positioned his arms around her waist, resting her arms on his shoulders. She continued to sing and Michonne closed her eyes when she felt Rick dropping kisses along her cheek until he reached her ear,

"This conversation ain't over." he said and raised his head to meet her eyes with his first smile since Carl spilled the beans. It was a predatory smile and she'd been caught.

"It's just a coincidence that she was there, Rick." Michonne whispered and scoffed, "It's not like she _made_ me faint."

He pushed her back gently, holding her hand in the air as he spun her around. Michonne's back rested flush against his torso. He wrapped himself around her shoulders and spoke into her ear again. "I'm gonna get to the bottom of this." The rage produced inside him at the thought of his ex-wife's possible culpability in this situation had him pressing Michonne's body tighter to him than he'd intended. "If I find out Lori…" he trailed off, unable to even speak the words as the music played on. "I don't think I'll be nice about it."

 _ **Merry Christmas baby**_

 _ **I said you sure do treat me nice**_

 _ **You bought all those lovely things, yeah**_

 _ **I feel like I'm in paradise**_

* * *

" _I don't think I'll be nice about it."_ Michonne kept hearing Rick's words in her mind as she brushed her teeth getting ready for bed. When he'd said it, she heard something in the timbre of his voice that alarmed her, but she honestly didn't know what he could have meant by that. She couldn't see him ever putting his hands on a woman or even a witch like Lori. It just seemed so out of character for him.

But _I don't think I'll be nice about it_ had her wondering if there was another side to Rick that she had never seen before. A side to his anger that would make what he did to Mike pale in comparison.

She climbed into bed beside him, slowly, not wanting to wake him. It took her forever to lay down completely as she moved in the smallest increments, all the while keeping her eyes on the back of his head, watching for any movement. As soon as her head hit the pillow, she let out a breath and he turned over to her, his blue eyes flashing like stars in the middle of their dark room.

"Why're you creepin'?"

"I'm… I was trying not to wake you."

"I know. Why? You don't normally care if you wake me up and you're never so far away." He said sliding her body across the cool sheets into his. They laid face to face, with Michonne crossed arms at her chest. "I been laying here thinkin'. You ready to finish our conversation?"

"Unless there's a way around it…" She gave him a hollow chuckle.

"No. No way around it."

"Okay."

"Why were you with Lori… more importantly, why'd you keep it from me?"

Michonne swallowed. She could feel her throat tighten and eyes flood. "That was wrong. I shouldn't have kept it from you. You're right."

"I ain't tryin' to be right. I wish I was fuckin' wrong. I wish the curse was lifted like Carl said. But I know that woman. She's toxic. So, why would you walk right into her hands like that when we both know that _you_ knew I wouldn't be okay with it?"

She huffed through her guilt. "I thought you were just being dramatic. I was at a public place with her and I've never done anything to her… why would she do anything to me? _How could_ she do anything to me?"

"Michonne, Lori is... like poison ivy. You don't rationalize reasons why it _might_ be safe to touch it. You just stay away from it. Period."

Michonne was starting to get upset. She rolled over with her back to Rick, ashamed. He chased her down to comfort her with his strong arms even as he hoped she was getting the point of this reprimand.

"Baby, you tie my hands when you don't listen to me." He planted his chin over her shoulder and spoke in feathers at her ear. He had his palm at her throat, his calloused hand stroking her there gently. "When you told me how to handle Shane, I listened to you. Right?" She nodded. "Because you know him better than me. I know Lori better than anyone. I wish I didn't, but I do. I know you may've been overdoin' it but trust me when I tell you Lori threw fuel on that fire. She wouldn't have been able to resist."

Michonne couldn't believe that anyone, not even Lori, would purposely do anything to a pregnant woman.

She always considered the warnings about Lori from Daryl, Carol and Rick to be folklore. It had been a long time since she ran into anyone that cruel. Michonne had made herself this little bubble of love and lived there for so long, she had thought she'd laid down her playground munitions for good.

Now she wondered if maybe it was time to bring back the _fuck you bitch_ battle cry of her childhood. She didn't want to be angry like that ever again. She didn't want her kids to ever be that way. She didn't ever want Rick to see that side of her. It was ugly… scary.

But if Rick was right and Lori had something to do with her trip to the hospital… though she endeavored to be a kindness for the world, a point of light that could've made a difference in the life of her younger self, she had to be careful. The little ones inside her needed to be protected now and she couldn't leave that all to Rick. She had to be fierce. She had to know if she had been too trusting; if she had been blind to the degree of malice in Lori's heart.

"I need you to find out, Rick. I need you to tell me what she did… if she did… anything."

Rick was still caressing the skin at her neck. His other hand traveled over her breast, past her hip and down to her thigh. He wrapped his hand around her thickness, separating her knees. He slid his hand up to the place where a push of her button could make her move against him like an animatronic. "I have to know." she said rolling her ass into his stiffening cock.

Inhaling her warm earthy scent, Rick submitted to her promise on a raspy note. "I will."

He could feel her heartbeat pulsing through her clit as he massaged her there. There was a momentary sadness that threatened to fill his heart- a sadness for Michonne, who explained how she met Lori for Carl's sake that day with the purest motive. It killed him that Lori used his son to hurt this generous woman, but it also excited him knowing that that heartless bitch had finally crossed a line that gave him a clean conscience to remind her of who he was.

She must've forgotten how well he knew her and how easily he could inflict pain. All those years under the same roof, he watched her beg for mercy, beg for a single courtesy, beg for a truce. Until Rick realized that his constant aim to pay her back for what happened in the past was actually stealing away his chance at a future. For his own sake he gave up trying to settle that score.

Now, he broke with new anticipation that this breach in the garden of Eden he and Michonne were building gave him a righteous cause to unleash every manner of fire and brimstone at his disposal. Michonne's thoughts ran along the same lines.

"You know I didn't get that bitch anything for Christmas, Rick." She said sarcastically through quick passionate breaths. "I bet you left her off your list, too. Didn't you?

"Mmm." he rocked into her backside, moaning on a mouthful of the berry sweet skin at her shoulder. His lips pulled away, with a smacking sound. His voice coming out long and gravelly over two words, "I did."

"Let's give her something from the both of us." Michonne suggested, throwing her hand up behind her to finger the curls at his nape. She used the silky strands to pull him closer and meet her mouth. They indulged in a wet eager kiss, a free-for-all of soft lips, invading tongues and advancing teeth. "Turn on the light." she said as she reached for her phone charging on the nightstand.

The soft golden light of the lamps left and right of their bed splashed across her creamy dark skin as she turned to him with a devilish smile. She faced him, laying on her side and waved her phone playfully next to her grinning face. "Let's send her a home movie."

Rick's first impulse was a slight shake of his head once he understood her meaning. But Michonne's lidded brown eyes coerced him quickly over the bite of her bottom lip. The idea growing on him along with his manhood.

He had never done anything like this and as much as he touted privacy and discretion, he thought if he'd make an exception for anyone, he'd make it for Lori. He knew somethings could never be unseen and he smiled at the thought of burning the image of their lovemaking into her memory forever. He nodded approval of this perfectly petty pasta and played along with Michonne's double entendre as he eased up on all fours over her body, "Let's take her to dinner first... startin' with dessert."

Michonne giggled and pulled her shirt over her head as Rick began his descent, kissing along the beautiful curves that she was blessed with- that he was blessed with. The Christmas tree behind him, all lit up, was a serendipitous backdrop for this premeditated murder they were about to commit together. All that was missing was a soundtrack.

"Alexa," Michonne called, making the little black cylinder on her side table chime, 'play Mimi's Christmas Mix. Master bedroom." The device chimed again and the cheery horns of Mr. Redding's _Merry Christmas Baby_ played at a comfortable volume from the speakers in the room.

Rick looked up at Michonne and laughed at her wicked sense of humor. His smile made her smile wider and they held each other's gaze for a moment letting the reciprocal sight of them being bad together amplify the anticipation, the eagerness to feel and taste each other.

"Go easy so I can keep the camera focused." She whispered, knowing his tongue usually robbed her of all motor skills. She added the flash, hit _record_ and got a first-class shot of him laying kisses on her belly bump as he pulled her panties off her hips.

Rick was a natural. She watched on her screen as he performed for the camera, looking up to stare at her seductively, "You're so fuckin' beautiful." he said as he skimmed his lips back and forth over her lower lips. His breath and the vibration of his voice setting her skin to tingle. "You're such a blessin'. Can't wait for a real woman to have my last name." Michonne smiled knowing Lori would hear it but her happiness came from knowing Rick meant it.

He got down to business, releasing his tongue on a slow flattened lick from her entrance to her nub. He lingered there, pampering her with the firm tip of his tongue. Michonne's appreciative whimpering immediately joined his enthusiastic moans and Rick enjoyed himself, hearing her make all her familiar jerking yelps of pleasure.

He closed his eyes and forgot about the camera as his tongue dipped inside her and his dick jumped when she grabbed his hair with her free hand breathing out a desperate, "Oh, God."

He knew his name was about to start rising from her throat in an asthmatic chant. When he heard it, he had to see her face. Her lips were puckered, and her eyes were as heavy as her head, lifting from, then falling to the pillow periodically like the puck on a high striker game at the carnival. Every time he connected with the delicate nucleus of her bliss she hissed like a feral cat, arching her back and stretching her toes.

He was obviously ignoring her direction to go easy and the cinematic quality was compromised a time or two as Michonne let the angle skew when those decadent waves of heat began to melt down every muscle in her body.

He decided he wanted to make her cum quickly, so his throbbing cock could join the holiday party. _Michonne always throws the best parties._ He humored himself as he began the simultaneous sucking and licking manipulation over her clit that would make her juicy center erupt.

He sank two fingers into her slippery slit, curling and unfurling them over her velvety soft spot and she encouraged him with the airy words he knew they'd pull from her, "Right there, daddy. Right there, Rick. Right there, daddy. Oh, daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" she accelerated her cries pushing her feet into the mattress and lifting her spoiled, happy pussy to his face. "I'm cumming!" Michonne shrieked as Rick pulled his fingers from her, laving and slurping at the liquid sugar flowing warm on his face.

"Put that ass in the air." He said jiggling her thigh with a smack as he took her phone from her hand and raised to his knees. He was stroking every inch of his swollen, heavy, blushing length as Michonne turned over still moaning through the experience of her orgasm. She made it to her knees as quick as she could with the ringing in her ears and the spots before her eyes knowing Rick liked to slip inside her while her pussy was still contracting.

He made sure the lens captured the way he pushed inside her slowly, feeling the last gripping constrictions of her walls around his cabled cock and his head swam on a gratified, "Fuuuuuck..." and a forcefully expelled breath of relief to be inside her.

He went at a maddeningly slow pace, and let the proof of her satisfaction glaze his dick from tip to hilt as it glistened in the ambient light of the room and the camera's flash. Rick knew Lori wouldn't watch the entire video. Her heart would give out first. What he did now was for him and Michonne.

He twisted inside her, going so deep and pulling out just far enough to make her feel that meaty head plunge in again. The sounds escaping her diaphragm let him know he was working magic every time he slid through her. He looked at the beauty of the way his complexion disappeared into hers, like the cream in coffee, like his soul literally disappeared into hers whenever he got a glimpse of Michonne.

He pushed his hand up her smooth back past her neck, filling his fist with the thick cordage of her locs. Steering clear of the tender spot from her fall, he pulled her head back between her shoulders and she let out a cry at the sudden twinge of intensity. "Shit, Michonne. You got me so hard. Ahh…" he groused and squenched his face, loving the tightness he felt. "Fuck. I fuckin' love you."

Michonne purred out the same sentiment though it could barely be heard coming from her parted parched lips as the smack of Rick's pelvis against her cheeks came louder and quicker, drowning out the music in the space. He could feel her about to cum again. She screamed into her pillow knowing Carl' was probably texting Enid in the next room.

Rick steadied himself to ride out the current of electricity exploding and spreading out like a mushroom cloud over his entire sweaty body.

The first shot of his release left him, deep inside her. But he pulled out, squirting powerfully on his retreat. "Ahhhhhh…" he growled, catching the moment his dick fell half-flaccid from Michonne. His milky rivulets of his seed decorated her reddened folds and inner thighs as she tipped over and curled up to her pillow. Rick tossed the phone to her, exhausted and sitting on his heels as his rippling abs rose and fell, trying to catch his breath. He watched her do the same, pulling her hair off her damp neck and face with her injured hand as she picked up her phone with the other.

"I can't believe the stuff you get me to do." he chuckled, pushing his hair back with both hands.

"Rick, you're just as nasty as I am. We both know it. I don't know why you like to fake on me." she said candidly and dropped her phone on the bed.

He laughed knowing it was true. "I'm thinking… why wait for confirmation that Lori did something that Lori would do?"

"You make a good point. That bitch is as rank today as she will be tomorrow."

"I say we send it to her now."

"Why let her spaghetti get cold when we can make her cry the whole 14-hour flight?"

Rick laughed imagining the sight. "Go 'head. Like Sasha would say, 'fuck up that bitch whole life'."

"I love it when you're petty." Michonne giggled hard into her pillow until Rick looked at her with a curious expression.

"What? Why're you laughin'?"

"I already sent it."

* * *

Lori was sitting on her couch, all packed and ready to go. She waited for Negan nervously biting at the skin on her thumb. The butterflies in her stomach were beginning to feel like buzzards and she tried to call Carl to say goodbye one last time before she left for the airport. Carl was sound asleep with a full belly of Michonne's cooking, so she just left a message.

"Hey, it's your momma. Just wanted to say goodbye in case you can't reach me at the airport or on the plane. I love you. Merry Christmas, honey."

Her phone buzzed at her ear and she decided that was as good a place as any to end that message, so she hung up and checked the one she just got… from _Michonne_?

 **Michonne: In case your plane falls out the sky**

-read the text accompanying the video below it. Lori rolled her eyes not finding any humor in the ominous joke. The thumbnail frame was mostly Rick's smiling face and she played the video expecting to see something Carl-related. At first, she smiled at the Christmas music she heard in the background…

 _ **Merry Christmas baby**_

 _ **Sure do treat me nice**_

Until she noticed the glare of the beaming flash shining off the mocha of Michonne's smooth thighs spread wide on either side of his bare chest. Lori's mouth dropped in horror as she watched Ricks lips traverse the circumference of Michonne's stomach. She couldn't believe what she was seeing as he removed her panties and she held her hand to her mouth wanting to scream but it stalled in a loathsome gasp.

"You're so fuckin' beautiful." She heard her favorite drawl tell the woman opened before him. She saw him dip his head and the hunger in his eyes. She heard the bottomless devotion in every syllable of his declaration when he said, "You're such a blessin'." She heard the ache in his chest when he confessed. "Can't wait for a real woman to have my last name."

And with that, finally the denial muting her sobs was shattered under the pressure of her grief. A deluge of tears came from her eyes. She stood up quickly needing to… do something with herself as the terrorizing wound of the scene grew and grew rotting her eyes in their sockets, stabbing at her heart and filling her lungs with burning poison. At least, that's what it felt like.

But there was nowhere to go and nothing to do beyond letting out a scream so guttural, so blood curdling, she frightened herself. Lori fell back on the couch, wishing she could pass out like Michonne had in the middle of that parking lot. The bluesy rendition of holiday cheer playing under the sounds of Michonne having all she could take of all Lori wanted was driving her mad.

"That BITCH!" Lori shouted, "YOU FUCKING BITCH!" she yelled, her face morphing like melted plastic as she kicked her coffee table over cracking the glass and busting up every knick knack that sat on top of it.

She stood up again, pacing back and forth as she broke out in sweat. The back and forth of Rick's moans of rapture, Michonne's dreamy calls to the spirit in the sky, Rick's four-letter words followed by a name that could never be mistaken as Lori and Michonne's erratic breathing reached a crescendo in her splintering brain and she pitched her phone across the room.

It landed behind a heavy bookcase, that try as she might, she couldn't move. She got on her knees, stretching her arm behind the heavy piece of furniture until she was flat on her stomach. She grunted and cursed, desperately trying to reach her phone as the sounds from the cracked phone still came through the perfectly functioning speakers. She managed to wiggle and maneuver her body until she made enough room behind the bookcase to fit her arm, her head and her shoulders in the precarious space, but she still couldn't reach it.

When she tried to pull herself out of the crevice, she had no leverage. The awkward position of her limbs and the angle of her thoroughly wedged skull had her stuck in the seventh circle of hell. It didn't escape her notice that she was all alone in need of help like Michonne was Saturday. Not knowing how bad Michonne had been injured, she hoped that karma was a myth. All she could do is weep into her floorboards, hoping that Negan would be there soon.


	33. Chapter 33

**_A/N: Thanks for all your reviews guys. One guest asked for updates with more than one chapter like I've done in the past. As this story starts coming to a close single chapter updates are more likely. BUT that's because I am working on other stuff- one shots, possible multi-chapters, prompts that I hope you will check out and enjoy._**

 ** _I also recommend that you favorite and follow We'reTheOnesWhoWrite here and on tumblr. There is some yummy Richonne content there and there's a lot more on the way. Spread the word on that, folks. You won't be disappointed._**

 ** _This chapter of Call has a few flashbacks mixed in. I made an effort to signify changes in time with bold print to make it easier to follow._**

 ** _~comewithnattah_**

* * *

 _Strumming my pain with his fingers_

 _Singing my life with his words_

 _Killing me softly with his song_

 _Killing me softly with his song_

 _Telling my whole life with his words_

 _Killing me softly, with his words_

Michonne looked at the faces of her inner circle. **Right now** , they were forming a literal circle around her in various stages of undress. Sasha was in her black Spanx bodysuit to tuck away some of the belly that she had left over from giving birth to her baby girl, Belly. Her heavy sweater hung on a hook in the dressing room with ornate swinging doors and black trim. Andrea's dark blue jeans were hanging over the side of the gray tufted couch behind them, she only wore a royal blue cowl-neck sweater over her undies. The hem of Maggie's plaid high-waisted, wide-legged pants bunched at her feet without her heels on and she was topless except for her bra.

Michonne was the only one completely covered in her champagne-colored wedding gown. They were all barefoot on the white furry carpet as they stood directly under the black chandelier in the private fitting suite of the boutique. It was as if they all were suspended in time, just staring at Michonne. She waited in anticipation of their feedback to the earful she'd just given them.

Andrea finally shattered the silence when she blew out the raspberry of laughter she'd been holding in since Michonne stopped speaking. Her boisterous reaction seemed to reanimate Maggie, who covered her mouth with wide eyes. Sasha laughed too, only more sarcastically.

"There's no way!" Maggie whispered into the huddle. "Rick would never!"

"Rick is the one who said we shouldn't wait to send it."

"Was he drunk?" Maggie pronounced every syllable in a heavier than usual country accent.

"A little. But not really." Michonne shrugged. "Y'all keep thinking I'm the bad one… but it's really Rick. I try to tell people that all the time. He has everybody fooled."

Michonne had done a good job with keeping the stunt she and Rick pulled on Lori quiet. She had kept it to herself for weeks. But with them all together for the first time since Thanksgiving, the classified mischief of her and Rick's amateur porno burned the tip of her tongue. As soon as she saw her roll dogs, she knew she wouldn't make it through the day they had planned without serving that piping hot tea.

All through their **earlier** brunch, Michonne sat anxiously holding in her secret as Andrea told the girls how Shane was a hit in Encino and charmed the socks off her mother and all her mother's friends. He had a productive meeting pitching a book loosely based on his life with a major publishing house. Mrs. Harrison-Walsh was proud to say her husband had charmed the socks off them too.

It was the couple's plan, now, that Shane be a 'kept man' and Andrea be his sugar mama. He quit his job at the restaurant to write full time. Sasha had doubts that would go over well in the new marriage considering Shane's male pride, but Michonne never doubted that her brother would be a success in the right circumstances. Andrea had played a big part in making Michonne who she was today, and she believed the go-getter attitude of her best friend would serve her brother well.

The loaded omelets, warm croissants, airy crepes, crispy bacon- and one sad little bowl of fruit salad for Andrea served as their spread at Duncan's. Paul stood refreshing drinks and listened as the infamous blonde had everyone at their table bouncing in their seats with laughter while she related her most outrageous honeymoon tale: Meeting Leonardo Dicaprio.

She said she and Shane were at some vegan spot in L.A. She dramatized the whole incident, explaining how she stood there with her new husband and love of her life, while she eye-fucked the academy award winner. She said she'd experienced her most major heartbreak grieving the end of her bachelorette days as her most wanted fantasy slipped through her grasp. While everyone else called the whole thing a fabrication, Michonne's main hang-up with the story was that Andrea had her brother eating fake chicken.

 **Now at their second dress fitting** , Michonne was ready to twist her own arm to let the cat out of the bag. As the group talked and complained about how busy they all were, case en points regarding the added stress of trying to be dutiful wives morphed into tales about their husband's funny and annoying habits. The good time they were having was becoming garish- just like Michonne liked it- and she thought, What better way to bond with my girls than to share the one thing my husband-to-be explicitly told me not to tell anyone?

 _I felt all flushed with fever, embarrassed by the crowd_

 _I felt he'd found my letters and read each one out loud_

 _I prayed that he would finish, but he just kept right on_

Wild as she was, a sex tape was a new addition to her list of misdeeds. Michonne had never done anything so scandalous before and it was like she couldn't stop thinking about it until she told someone else who wasn't there. A bunch of times, she wanted to tell Andrea, but she had to be sure she wouldn't tell Shane. Now that she could look them all in their faces, she took the opportunity to swear them to secrecy and spill her guts about the naughty flick she had sent to the enemy they all shared on principle.

The music in the boutique was classic RB diva's love songs. The boisterous bunch covered L-Boogie's runs in _Killing Me Softly_ by the Fugees. They all became Lauren Hill. The lot of them, with swaying shoulders, deliberate two steps and fingers pointed exuberantly to the roof, held the long notes but failed to carry the tune. After they laughed heartily at their American Idol reject performance, Michonne caught her breath and dropped the bomb about the risqué recording nonchalantly. She left them all in silence as Mary J. began to sing _Sweet Thing_.

 _I will love you anyway_

 _Even if you cannot stay_

 _I think you are the one for me_

 _Here is where you want to be_

Once it all sank in, Andrea could not stop giggling, "I didn't know Freddy had a new movie coming out, Mimi…" she mumbled and only Michonne caught what she said and understood it. Michonne widened her big brown eyes to shut her friend up. The old inside joke between her and her evil blonde twin was a cat she'd like to keep in the bag.

The whole Freddy thing started after she took a tumble into Rick's lap **at Mike's party**. She called Andrea that night, hot and bothered. Her mind was stuck on that hammer in his pants. It was a problem. Andrea said Michonne sounded like she was talking about her favorite scary movie from their childhood- _A Nightmare on Elm Street_. She loved to watch it with her face half covered. It would freak her out and excite her at the same time. So, of course, Andrea took it a step further and started calling Rick's dick, Fred. It would crack Michonne up every time she said it.

 **At the moment** though, Andrea was the one cracking up… which kept Sasha giggling- as much as she didn't want to. "That bitch gonna make y'all dumb asses famous." she said walking away from the group to put on her dress. Andrea hooted again at Sasha's take on it and the mother of four shook her head at Michonne's crazy best friend.

"She can't. It's gone now."

"What is? The video?"

Michonne nodded. "Courtesy of Eugene Porter."

"That weirdo that works with Abe?" Sasha remembered.

"Yup." Michonne confirmed with an annoyed deadpan expression just thinking of the mulleted mega-mind of mainframes and motherboards. "Rick has him on retainer. He can remote into anybody's laptop, tablet, phone… he can wipe photos, videos, voicemails. He's such a creep. I think he gets off on playing internet god. But having him on deck is the only way Rick would agree to my baby bump blog. In case I post anything he deems," she rolled her eyes and made air quotes, "inappropriate."

"In case?" Sasha looked puzzled and amused at the idea that Michonne could possibly behave herself on social media.

"In case!" Andrea screamed out, even more hysterically in laughter.

"Blondie, stop!" Michonne tried to shake some composure into her best friend as she laughed uncontrollably. "You better not tell Shane either. I know that husbands and wives tell each other everything, but this has to trump that."

"I'm not going to tell him, Mimi." Andrea promised again. It sounded a lot less convincing than the oath Michonne made her swear initially. It was the bride's prerequisite before she would even tell them her secret. "Hell, I'm thinking me and Bubba should make a video of our own and send it to her."

"Course you are, Drea." Maggie sighed at Andrea's gravitation to depravity as Michonne and the newlywed fraternized, bumping shoulders and giggling.

"Chill, Mrs. Rhee. You are too damn serious." Michonne countered. "Besides, you really think Rick would have agreed to do it if he thought Lori would put him on blast like that? We haven't even heard from her since she left. She hasn't even called Carl once."

"Still?" as the only mother among them, Sasha couldn't believe it. "Is Carl upset?"

"I think so. He hasn't mentioned it, but, I mean that's his mom and it's been weeks." Michonne said with a softer voice.

Andrea sidled up to Michonne's ear, "Maybe she died watching Freddy's new movie." she joked with a whisper and no remorse.

"Mimi, you had my nerves shot for a minute there." Maggie pressed her fingertips to her temples, easing off the fret of the video. She was still concerned though. "You are playin' a dangerous game."

Michonne sucked her teeth at Maggie's mousey voice of reason. "Okay, Care Bear. Play it out. Take Eugene out of the equation. She shares the video…" Michonne proposed a scenario and crushed it's probability in the same breath. "Rick and I would know she did it immediately. Rick knows too many of her secrets. Trust me she's not trying to open those floodgates. She's the one playing a dangerous game." Michonne scoffed at the idea that Lori could ever have the upperhand and continued, "That's not how she operates anyway. Think about it. That stuff she pulled with Shane, she never thought that would get back to Rick. When she was trying to keep Carl from us, she took the phone from him- but made it seem like he just mysteriously lost it. Even what happened at the mall, we can't really prove that she saw me when I fainted..."

"That bitch saw you, Mimi." Sasha snapped. "The camera caught her right there."

"Yeah. But it doesn't show her line of sight. She could easily say she didn't see what happened. My point is: She is like the actual devil. She operates within the realm of plausible deniability."

"And Sasha's point is we're beating her ass when she gets back from the desert." Andrea's voice suddenly stiffened.

"Yeah." even Maggie chimed in quietly to agree. "That bitch needs her ass beat." Everybody turned to make sure it really was Miss Kumbaya and Olive Branches who said it. "What?" her big green eyes asked innocently. "We are gonna beat her ass, right?"

"See now y'all are tripping." Michonne laughed bouncing a finger pointed at her squad. "Lori would never share that video, but she most definitely would press charges on every one of y'all if anybody swung on her. As much as she loves to play the victim?"

Andrea stopped her right there. "Mimi, you know I spent the night in jail more than once, I would gladly do it again to get my hands on that crabgrass coochie heffer."

They all laughed at Andrea's words and Michonne conceded, "I know you would, Blondie." she quirked a brow, "I also know you want to put some extra knots on her noggin because she slept with Shane." All the ladies agreed with a rowdy clamor. "But that would be a win for Lori." Michonne explained, suddenly becoming the only level-headed one, "She would love to ruin my wedding by putting all my bride's maids in lock up. We might as well fit y'all for orange jumpsuits instead of dresses today."

 _You're my heat, you are my fire_

 _You're not mine, I can't deny it_

 _Don't you hear me talking baby_

 _Love me now or I'll go crazy_

After a moment of mouthing the words to the song in deep thought, Sasha interrupted the hook to admit, "She's right, y'all." and Michonne exhaled in making an ally for non-violence. Her sister sat down on the plush couch and took a sip of the complimentary champagne. She eyed the other girls with a determined squint, "We gotta get that daffy bitch after the wedding."

Michonne protested with a roll of her eyes and was happy when Maggie change the subject, "I can't believe it's like a month away." she contemplated as she zipped Andrea into her dress.

"Less than." Sasha corrected. "Damn, Mimi. You are getting married." she stated the obvious like she was reading a billboard on the side of the road. "You're not even nervous… I can tell."

"No, I'm not nervous." She said as she tossed her locs this way and that trying to decide on a style for the big day. "Sash, remember being in the system, never knowing where you were going next?" she reflected as she dropped her hair back over her shoulders and took a seat on the couch. Her sister looked at her intently and nodded to her question.

Sasha knew Michonne had survived more years of that uncertainty than she had. Sasha was with her mom until she was 13, by then she could take care of herself. Even after her mom went into rehab, she visited her at least once a month. Moving from place to place was more of an annoyance for her than anything else. She could only imagine what it was like for Michonne who had never known anything but the system.

Michonne compared her past life to her future, "We never knew if we were gonna be happy or hungry or hurt. And now it's not even a thought for me… where I'm going to be… I'm going to be with Rick. Forever. It feels so fucking good to say that shit. Forever."

Michonne's phone rang just then. She knew exactly who it was. There was only one person on the planet worthy of having Janet Jackson's Anytime, Anyplace as a intro.

"Your ears burning, Big Poppa?"

Rick chuckled, "I love it when you call me Big Poppa." He said playfully in his best Christopher Wallace as he sat slouched in the company truck. Michonne giggled at the fact that he went there. From what he knew of their respective catalogs, he considered himself to be more of a Tupac man, much the same as he identified with the Stones as opposed to the Beatles. But he still paid Biggie the homage that was due out of respect for Michonne who repped east coast all day.

Rick heard the wild chorus of Michonne's present company yelling their greetings to him in the background and he told Michonne to tell them all that he said hello. He also told her to inform them all that he expected them to keep an eye on her for the day and when she relayed the message a contest of disorderly voices screamed their compliance in response.

"So, should my ears be burnin'?" he asked her with his sexy southern cadence.

"Yes, because I'm doing that thing where I get emotional at the thought of you and I'm pretty sure I talked you up." She said reclining into the couch rubbing her belly as Relish and Steak started to flip, she presumed, at her change in spirit at the sound of their daddy's voice. "I was just about to weep before you called and saved me from an ugly cry. So, thanks for that. I'm all smiles now."

Michonne's boyfriend knew that she wasn't exaggerating in her use of the word weep. It didn't even alarm him anymore to see her lose it over the most mediocre things. When she held Annabelle and the little one smiled, she wept. When Shane sent her a page to read from his book, she wept. When Carl came home with a B or better on a test, she wept. If Rick surprised her and came home earlier than she expected, she wept.

Her weeping was so excessive that Shane, Carl and Rick started keeping a competitive tab of who could make her cry the most happy tears in a week. The winner would be crowned Michonne's favorite. Shane was in the lead with Carl as a close second because Rick was a reluctant participant. He wasn't really interested in being recognized formally as Michonne's favorite. The king was the king by right, not by election, as far as he was concerned.

"Well, If you're smilin', I'm two for two today."

"You got it?" Michonne asked excitedly after a gasp.

Rick licked his teeth and nodded, swallowing a warm sip of coffee from his to-go cup. "I got it." he said confidently.

Michonne squealed with excitement and it was contagious when she turned to her friends with the news. "Rick got the contract!"

Rick grinned, raising his voice to be heard over the buzz on Michonne's end of the call. "So, tell Sasha she's up."

Rick wanted Michonne's sister to be his second in command on this upcoming job with the wild cards on his payroll- Abraham, Merle and Rosita- following her lead. He figured it was best to separate Daryl from his brother whenever possible and Sasha was the only person he knew that might be able to control the eldest Dixon boy, if her handling of Abe was any indication.

This security contract was a godsend for the Ford family and Rick since it was local. Daryl and the rest of the team would be taking care of out of town work. The take home from this gig would be a substantial raise, giving Dixon/Grimes the precedence to start future contract negotiations with a much higher salary.

Unlike most of Rick's clientele, who would request anonymity, this new client welcomed the spotlight and had a rather notorious public image, to the point of receiving death threats. Rick had explained to Michonne that the visibility and challenges of this job could open doors that would have them set with high-profile clients if they played their cards right... if they could get the job.

Michonne had never seen Rick fail at anything. She knew that even though his company was just getting a foot in the door of the big leagues, so to speak, all it would take is a few winning smiles and a little turn of phrase in the trade's vernacular slathered in country boy twang to put him right where he belonged: in the upper echelon of his field.

"Didn't I tell you, babe? You're Rick motherfuckin' Grimes…"

He chuckled and modestly redirected, "Carol is in there sortin' out the details with the manager, but I had to call you and tell you. So, how's everythang else goin'? You behavin'? How's your dress?" He inquired, genuinely hopeful, that she'd eventually be happy with the dress she reluctantly chose. He knew how important her appearance was to her. "They fix it?"

"No, Rick, they did not fix it." Michonne's happy disposition turned on a dime as she stood up in front of the mirrors to disapprove of her look again. She dropped her free hand, resigned to defeat. "This is a fitting." She explained to her clueless boyfriend getting somewhat annoyed, "The fitting makes sure it fits but the dress can't be fixed, babe. It is what it is. I'm like an elephant in the circus and I have to wear a tent." Her dress was not the sex kitten silhouette she had her heart set on and, for her, the whole aesthetic of the entire wedding was thrown off.

"Mimi, you look adorable." Maggie interjected, flouncing the flowy skirt of her long trapeze gown, trying to cheer her up.

"Whatever, I don't want to talk about it. I'm over it." Michonne waved past the compliment and started to cry. But she wasn't over it. She had been dreaming about what she would wear if she ever got married since the treehouse. She thought about it even more after she met Rick. And her mental design was nothing like the dress she had on now. "I mean, Adorable is for fucking toddlers, Care Bear! Maybe Bubba should just push me down the aisle in a stroller… and Roe can officiate in baby talk! Who wants to be adorable on their damn wedding day?"

She was big. It seemed impossible that she could get bigger, but she still had months to go. At first, she thought her bump was cute. But now none of her clothes looked right on her. It was becoming depressing. She nearly hated coming out of the house. She hated the maternity gear that she'd bought and decided maternity clothes are ugly. Period.

The thought that adorable was the best she could do for her man on their wedding day, killed her. Especially since her man was the Adonis, Rick Grimes. He was the epitome of desire. There was nothing about him she would change. It was the little things about him that turned her on. The way fat veins crawled across the backs of his big hands when he held her tummy, the way his eyes would hang heavy when she kept, him up all night… that sleepy bedhead look would usually turn into morning sex. The way he strained his neck when he worked his dumbbells...

But now even their spine-tingling sex life was suffering, and it was all her fault. She couldn't get as close to Rick as she wanted to when they made love. Her libido was starting to wane. She just didn't have the energy. One round in the ring with Rick and she'd be knocked out for hours. Dr. Gabe had recommended yoga for her back pain and she hated getting up to do it. Exercise was never Michonne's thing. The pregnancy was starting to lose its appeal and she just wanted to see her babies already.

 **A week ago,** they found out Steak was a boy and Relish was a girl. Michonne was happy that Carl had been there for that ultrasound. He knew Michonne was hoping for twin girls. But in a rare power shift, he took his father's side and saluted the idea of twin boys claiming that the guys had to stick to the bonds of brotherhood. When Diamond pointed out the different sexes of the babies, Rick and Carl slapped hands in celebration.

"Yes! We're still runnin' it!" Carl had exclaimed about the boy/girl ratio to the roll of Michonne's eyes.

Deciding he had to get a picture of her salty face, he crouched beside her where she lay on the exam table to take a selfie of them both. Rick called his son to heel in warning, but the young man was too excited to notice that he was provoking the B.M.E. with his tongue hanging out in triumph and a lazy peace sign between he and Michonne. As soon as the flash flickered in the dark room over Carl's enthusiastically obnoxious face, she popped him upside his head slightly denting his temple with the very ring he picked for her.

His phone displayed the snapshot of the bop he sustained in real time. "Make sure you send me that pic." Michonne told him smugly as he winced on a smile, still covering the point of contact with his hand.

"Send it to me too." Rick put in his order for their particular kind of family photo as he leaned back, relaxing in the extra chair provided in the room. He was feeling good. His life was just good. He looked at Michonne and Carl bickering out all the love they felt for each other. In another few months, there would be two noisy little bundles adding to the perfect chaos of his world.

Michonne had rolled into his so-called life like a grenade and the bang of her presence had awoken him out of a stupor. He and Carl shared a close bond, but they'd never laughed so much together before. Their relationship was that of a typical devoted father and adoring son. But with the addition of Michonne to their reality, he was getting to know Carl as a young man, a friend.

He would never forget when they went to Six Flags, **back in the summer**. That day at the big amusement park was the first time she'd met Carl face to face or spent any significant time with Daryl. She was beautiful in a romper with a white bandana print and a pair of black espadrille platform wedges. He couldn't believe she had worn those shoes to walk around in all day. But she did, and she didn't complain once. He remembered how silly he felt being impressed by that, but he was impressed nonetheless. It made her seem powerful somehow. Lori's footwear was always very sensible. But Michonne had a way of wielding the outlandish and making it work. He loved that about her.

He remembered that day so well. Rick was waiting in line to buy her cotton candy and playing the Michonne edition of 21 questions with Daryl. His best friend had a curious reaction to his new lady. Daryl's beady eyes seemed to narrow even more as he took in Michonne from the vantage point he shared with Rick a few yards away.

He watched her and Carl balance on the cement curb of a landscaped enclosure and set about racing backwards, with their arms out, to opposite ends of the square patch of flowers and grass. Rick heard the glee in his son's voice as Michonne gracefully skipped the entire way, in reverse, and dismounted the little ledge with a curtsey.

He saw Carl in a way he never got to see him. He saw none of the exasperation in his face that was present when he was with his mom. He saw none of the pressure to please that would bleed through his boy's features when it was just the two of them, father and son. He was absolutely carefree.

Rick enjoyed the sight of Michonne and Carl's horseplay as Daryl leaned into him with crossed arms continuing his interrogation. He wanted to know what spell Michonne had cast on his best friend to get Rick on the biggest rollercoaster in the park as soon as they arrived. He wanted to know what she'd whispered to him that gave him the balls to sit in the first set of seats. He wanted to know what was in that kiss she laid on him as the cars crept up the incline that made him hold his hands up in the air at her request.

But Daryl's words died out in Rick's ears as he observed Michonne and Carl from his spot in the long concession line. She was pulling Carl's long hair into a top knot and securing it with one of the hair ties she kept around her wrist amid the sterling cluster of bangles there. Rick smiled with a confused knitted brow as he looked on at his son doing the same to Michonne's locs.

After he watched his glowing girl and his growing son gesture back and forth to one another, he saw Michonne make her mind up with a determined expression. Rick tapped Daryl's arm quickly when he saw Michonne invert into a handstand briefly then land back on her feet. Carl seemed to be taken aback but his face quickly changed with a steely resolve. The two of them simultaneously went upside down to repeat the race on their palms.

Rick placed a hand to Daryl's chest and jogged off in a rush, leaving his partner to save their place in line. He dodged the groups of sunbaked pedestrians as he charged over to the two screwballs about to break their necks. If Carl got hurt Lori and Florence would never let him hear the end of it. But by the time he made it to them, the race was over, and Carl had won.

Michonne explained that she and Carl decided the winner would race Rick next. The older Grimes looked at them both in their adorable, delusional eyes and refused in no uncertain terms. Until Michonne wrapped her arms around his neck and breathed a few words into his ear. She winked at Carl and kissed Rick's cheek. Carl watched his dad pat Michonne's hands clasped above his chest and she stepped back from him with all the showmanship of a magician presenting a famous trick.

Rick agreed to the footrace. Carl jumped up on the curb, starting before Michonne said go and sprang into the race. Rick fell in effortlessly and his slightly longer gait quickly made him the easy winner. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and talked big smack about beating the teenaged cheater while Carl laughed and made excuses about being tired from the previous races.

Michonne was already waving Daryl over to go up against the winner of the last round and Rick's stone-faced friend was already thinking of an excuse that would get him off the hook. Rick threw an arm over his son's shoulder as they both caught their breath and was immediately struck at the new sense of levelled camaraderie he felt with the young man who was quickly nearing his height. Michonne was the bridge that gave him that connection.

In another few short weeks, his beautiful bombshell and bridge would take on the time-honored position of being his wife. Creating a family in Morgan's house with a batch of bad apples and tough cookies with chips on their shoulders was a feat. But she had done it despite the obstacles, just like he had with Carl. But they both found that such a creation was harder to construct from a romantic angle. The heart was much more fragile. The scope of possessiveness, self-worth and attachment was a wholly different brand of need. The edges of love in coupling were sharp and the both of them were like to bleed to death from their wounds before they met each other. Their opposing strengths had patched each other up, but the itch of healing could be a vexing sensation.

Rick smirked sympathetically at her meltdown as he spoke to her over the phone at her fitting. He compared the strain in her voice now to the lightness that surrounded her in his memories of that hot summer day. He knew it was more than just her dissatisfaction with the dress that had her so upset. Maybe he could be the magician, now. He was certain he knew just the trick to soothe her disappointment with the twists and turns of the rollercoaster she was on with him as they made their way to forever.

"Chonne." He called her name, **now** , calmly and she stopped mid-rant. She took a step toward the full body tri-fold mirror in front of her. She placed her forehead in the bend of two panels, hiding her face from her girls, who were looking on anxiously. "Chonne, baby. Am I marryin' that dress?"

Michonne took a deep breath and rolled her eyes. She knew what he was about to do.

"Am I?" he insisted.

"No." she whispered meekly, sniffling and drying her eyes with her finger tips.

"Tell me who then." he compelled her as he looked out onto the busy street, pitying all the people walking by who didn't know Michonne.

"Me."

"You. That's right. And why am I marryin' you, Michonne?"

"Because you love me."

"I do." He nodded and rested his head casually on the driver's side window, closing his eyes. He pictured her in white, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. In his mind, he could see the subdued reddish hue that peeked shyly from her dark pigment whenever she cried too much. He could see that wrinkle of pain between her eyebrows that appeared whenever she was trying not to care and failing. He could see her worrying the inside of her bottom lip like she did whenever he asked these kinds of leading questions in this decisive, persuasive tone. "But I love Daryl too. And I've been with'um long enough to put a ring on his finger if I was gonna. So, it ain't just cuz I love ya."

Michonne was quiet, now, leaning into her reflection, closing her eyes. In her mind, she could see him in a relaxed pose like a man who had everything under control. She could see him lick his bottom lip like he did whenever he was about to kiss away her pain. She could see the curl that crept in the corner of his lips whenever he was about to make her smile against her will.

"It's cuz you're my heart, Michonne. I can't live without you. I could live without anyone else, but not you. I have to share Carl with Lori and one day soon he'll be a full-grown man livin' his own life apart from us. And I'll be okay. I'll be proud. But I couldn't share you with anybody. I couldn't watch you make a life apart from me. That dress ain't gonna make me forget everythang I love about you- that you're creative, generous, funny, smart… a fuckin' knock out. I laid eyes on you and I could not just go about my life like I'd never seen you. You're the fuckin' sexiest woman I've ever seen," he quoted A.J. to emphasize his point, "on God, Michonne."

"On God?" She giggled, shaking her head and whispered to him, "You're so crazy." Andrea was standing closest to her and heard the happy sound of her best friend's distress dissolving. She turned back toward the other girls, smiling and nodding. She mouthed the words she's okay and walked back to the rest of the gang.

"You're too big for the dress you wanted and I'm glad. Your tiny waist is on hiatus… maybe a long one. I'm proud." He said on another gander out the window to the bright winter day. "That means Relish and Steak are growin' big and strong and I love you for that too." She touched her hand to her full belly where Rick's babies stirred, and her smile grew wider. "So, will you do somethin' for me?"

"Yes." She agreed quickly, floating on his words. "What?"

"Say fuck that dress."

She threw her head back with silent laughter, loving him a little more and realizing how lucky she was. "Fuck this dress." she said looking herself squarely in the eye.

"And say Rick mother fuckin' Grimes loves my big adorable ass." She repeated after her sweet thing chuckling through the entire line. "Nah, Chonne, say it like you mean it."

She solidified her words with more feeling, "Rick mother fuckin' Grimes loves my big adorable ass!" She heard her clique giggling behind her and made an effort to avoid eye contact with them through the mirror as she smiled bashfully.

"Thank you, baby." he said closing the door on her emotional upheaval of the day and opening the door to an evening of positive vibes. "I'm takin' the team out to celebrate tonight. Tell Sasha that Carl can babysit for her and Abe if she wants. I want you ready at 8, okay?"

"Okay, babe." she said excited and content as her pretty brown eyes welled up from joy, "...Rick?"

"Yeah, baby?"

She gave him a simple "I love you", meaning it and feeling it and claiming it more than she did the day before. "Now you got me on the verge of weeping again."

He beamed alone in the cab of the truck. "That's because I'm your favorite." he said, even as his mind echoed: the king is king by right.


	34. Chapter 34

Rick tore his eyes away from Michonne. As much as he'd like to drown in her cinnamon swirls forever, he had to look away or he'd never get through this. There were no words he could think of to describe how beautiful she was, standing there with her side-swept crown of two layered twisted locs pulling the rest of her hair into a curly waterfall of rich dark dreads over her exposed silky shoulders. He knew she hated this dress, but damn, did she look ethereal… like mother earth. So round and heavy with the gift of new life, draped in a lustrous pearl-like color.

Rick had the urge to say something profound like he always did when he looked into her eyes, when his gaze moved over her face, when he held her hand in his. He'd usually attempt it, but now even with his vows memorized he could barely speak. Most of their limited guest list sat riveted, waiting for Rick to speak. But none more so than the goddess herself as the trembling rise and fall of her moderately displayed cleavage gave away how ready she was to hear him eulogize a life poorly lived without him.

The fit of his midnight blue mohair tux had given her glorious tunnel vision as Shane struggled to keep her to the pace they'd set at rehearsal to the more subdued instrumentals of Beyoncé's 'Mine'. The ostrich feathers of her netted fascinator floating on the breeze of each unsubdued step made it clear that she was in a rush to get to him and scream "Yes, God! I, now and forever, do!" But before she could say yes, Rick had to swallow the lump in his throat and speak.

Daryl clapped Rick on the shoulder in silent support. Deanna stood between the bride and the groom beaming proudly behind the podium. At Michonne's request, her friend and referee for the young woman's fights against sensibility, followed the simple internet steps to become ordained and qualified to officiate their ceremony.

Carl was behind Daryl in the same tailored suit as the best man. Rick's son had walked the aisle with Maggie in her lace long-sleeved indigo bridesmaid dress. Carl had found Enid in the crowd and his eyes were locked on hers. Sasha was dressed identically to Maggie and currently holding her fat tawny-haired baby girl to keep her from fussing during the vows. Marching the aisle with Tyreese, Michonne's sister rounded out the wedding party.

Abe looked up at her in adoration of her strength and beauty while he held Duke on his knee. A.J. and Ali sat on either side of him in their little suits and ties. Ali had also insisted that he sit beside his fellow introvert, Glenn, who was also polished up like a brand-new penny.

"C'mon, Grimes." Rick heard Shane speak up tearfully from the front row. The maid of honor, in a halter-bodice of the same royal shade, stood behind Michonne and put a finger to her lips signaling her husband to hush. But he defied her. Maggie giggled behind Andrea and the blonde rolled her eyes and shook her head in embarrassment as Shane spoke up again, like a sinner saved in church, encouraging the groom. "Tell 'er, brother!"

Oddly enough, Shane's rowdy support had its intended effect. Rick thought back to the day he wrote the words he was about to say, and a heavy billow of gratitude that he was gaining Shane as a brother covered him as he licked his sinfully soft lips in preparation to make his promise before God and men.

….

"Hey Shane, what's up?"

"Hey, Rick. Question, man."

Rick closed his eyes already disturbed by what Shane might say. He had wanted this relationship with Michonne's brother because it was what _she_ wanted. Then he got to know Shane and realized he was really smart and kind and funny, just like Michonne. And he'd also come to expect that whenever Shane began any conversation with "Question…" he was about to hear something wild, because also like Michonne, Shane had no filter.

"Drea won't go down on me no more."

Rick pinched the bridge of his nose as he sat at his desk in the loft. _Here we go_ , he thought as he leaned back in his chair and tossed his pen onto the pad he was writing on. He surrendered to the uncomfortable conversation like his girlfriend would've wanted him to. Pulling his hand through his hair on a weary sigh, he encouraged Shane to continue, "Why not?"

"Says she don't like the taste no more. Makes 'er queasy."

"That blows…" he tried to pretend this was a normal discussion between bros. Shane chuckled a bit and Rick realized why. "No pun intended. So, what's your question?"

"Did Michonne cut you off too when she got pregnant?"

"No, but 'Chonne didn't have mornin' sickness like Drea does. Might have somethin' to do with that." Rick still couldn't believe that Andrea and Shane beat them to the altar and were now nearly racing them to the delivery room. Just the past Thanksgiving, the two were barely speaking. They were married before Christmas and, apparently- with a late August due date, they were pregnant before New Year's.

Each time Andrea called Michonne with a new bulletin, Rick felt like his head was spinning but Shane always said their life together was a year behind schedule. Their path had been set years ago. Now that they could admit they needed each other, they were rolling with no brakes and no fear. Rick could totally relate.

"Yeah, man, maybe." Shane quieted. He hadn't thought of that. "I googled how I could make it taste better for her. Says pineapple'll do the trick, but I'm allergic. Thought maybe you had some suggestions with Mimi already past her first trimester."

"Yeah. No." Rick said, rubbing his neck as the level of awkwardness rose again. "We… uh… we ain't really have that problem."

"I mean, I'll just eat the damn pineapples if I have to, man." He said without any reservations. "An itchy throat is a small price to pay for a lil' deep throat, right?" he laughed at his own joke and Rick joined him reluctantly... he couldn't resist.

"I guess, man. Sorry I couldn't help." Rick said trying to end the call without being rude. He was in the middle of something and wanted to get back to it before Carl got home.

"Mimi there?"

"Nah, she's with Roe doin' weddin' stuff."

"Yeah, I'm home alone too. Drea went to the grocery store… but between you and me I think she's out sneakin' beef and chicken."

"What?" Rick was surprised at the news and gave the conversation a little more attention.

Shane laughed at Rick's reaction. "Yeah, man. I was doin' laundry and found a fast food receipt in her jeans and I found a burger wrapper under her seat in the car."

"Very incriminatin'."

"I know man, Imma let it slide, though. So, what you doin'?"

"Weddin' stuff, too. Tryin' to finalize these vows."

"Oh yeah. Me and Drea ain't do all that. We just said the regular sickness and health, til' death stuff. Want me to help you with it?" Shane offered casually. "Help me break up the monotony of writing this book. This book is kicking my ass, brother. You wouldn't think it'd be so hard to write about ya own damn life. Sometimes I just gotta step away from the laptop and get my head outta writing mode, ya know. Hope ya don't mind the call. Ya know, I helped Mimi with hers... her vows that is. Ain't like she needed much help. She knew what she wanted to say." He rambled just like Michonne. It was hard to believe they didn't share some DNA. "She said you're good at sayin' sweet stuff. Said you bring her to tears… But don't forget who's in the lead to bein' her fav'rit."

"I won't." Rick said smiling proudly to himself, comfortable on his throne.

Shane's voice lilted in a tease. "So, you're a lil' poetic, huh, man?"

"I don't know if I'd say that… but she definitely brings somethin' outta me. Her face, her body, her laugh… I'm with livin', breathin' poetry man. Just looking at her it's like readin' poetry. I don't have a choice."

"Oh, shit, man!" You are good! You don't need my help, I see. So, how's it goin'?"

"It's … goin'." Rick said undecidedly.

"That don't sound good. What's the problem?"

"I just… got too much to say. We'll be standin' at the altar for an hour if I say all'a this." He said picking up his notepad and dropping it back to the desk feeling irritation. "I'm tryin' to narrow it down and I… I can't."

Shane exaggerated a flowery tone, "Awwwwww…" Then climbed up on a soapbox. "That's why all this 'say your own vows stuff' is excessive as fuck. What was wrong with the old vows? If it ain't broke don't fix it. Love, cherish..."

Rick didn't agree. It was his idea to write their own vows. But it was proving harder than expected given the magnitude of the moment. "Yeeeah…" he rasped in frustration, about to make a rebuttal, "but I want to promise her more'n that…"

"Good. She deserves it." Shane Said flat and quick to reinforce that determination for his sister. "Okay, brother. I'll do you like my editor does me. Let's see if we can't whittle this thang down a mite. Read me what you got."

….

Rick dropped his head and looked down at Michonne's slender fingers resting lightly in his hands. He tightened his hold on them.

"Michonne." he started and stopped again. "When you're forty years old and you realize you've done everythang in life that should have required bein' in love but you've never known the feelin', it's scary. It was scary when it hit me. But after a while I gave up… and I made peace with it." He said, nodding, finding the strength to look in her eyes, the color of a harvest bounty. "Then, last spring, I saw the rest of my life flash before my eyes in a tight little yellow skirt." She lifted her tear-streaked cheeks into one of her sacred smiles. "I couldn't stop myself. I walked right up to my forever and now I'm standin' face to face with you like I did that day. It's the sweetest deja vu. It occured to me… or I should say, it was brought to my attention…" He looked over at Shane, who wrinkled his face in the manliest sniffle he could muster to keep himself from an actual boohoo. "...that I was over forty and had started sayin' vows, literally sayin' forever, to you the very first day I met you and I never stopped. Forever is right here, Michonne. Right now. We been in the midst of forever from day one. We couldn'ta rushed it if we tried. So, I'm vowin' forever to you now, like I've always done. Forever with you is the only thang my life is good for."

Michonne had cried when she arrived at the old ranch Deanna inherited from her father when he passed years ago. As a bride who works in design, it was nerve-racking to relinquish her vision to the hands of a wedding planner, no matter how highly recommended he came. But seeing the grand solarium of the stack-stone farmhouse setup to receive her family and friends left her speechless. The sun shining bright through window panes, the sweet aroma of the small bouquets of deep blue calla lilies, pale blue hydrangeas and wide-blooming white roses lining the path she would walk to Rick, past the intimate setting of empty chairs… moved her deeply.

She cried again when, a tearful Maggie, ushered her, with wide questioning eyes, from the room appointed her bridal suite. The brunette's happy expression told that wherever she was going was Rick's doing as did her possession of the small package of tissue Rick had supplied her friend with. He handed his tissue-dispensing duties over to Maggie with all the seriousness of presenting a folded American flag. They met Sasha and Andrea (the soft-hearted blonde was already moved to tears) in a den on the first floor, where two women sat in front of the wall to wall library of the old untouched books. One, in pink scrubs, the other, a sharply dressed, brown skin woman. With a close cropped burgundy bush, into her dressing room. She appeared too young to need the wheelchair she was confined to. Slimmer than Michonne remembered but easily recognized-

Miss Tina.

After more than twenty years, Michonne was able to feel her embrace and look into the face of the woman who had been so kind to her. After losing Morgan, this was everything to her. Despite Michonne's limited recollection, Rick found the woman who was so special to his bride and flew her in for the wedding. He and Carl had met Tina at the airport that morning. He introduced himself as Michonne's husband and Carl as her son. The emotions those greetings brought on made him sure that he should not be in the room when Michonne laid eyes on the embodiment of her fondest memories. And he was glad he had the tradition of not seeing the bride before the wedding as an excuse for his absence. He didn't want any part of that moment to be about what he did. He just wanted the injuries of their time apart to heal.

Michonne cried through all the recollections of her life, noticing that she felt compelled to omit any bad parts. She didn't want Miss Tina to feel judged in any way. Circumstances didn't work out for them to stay together, that was nobody's fault. She simply wanted to honor this woman who truly fostered her and made her feel all the love the little girl inside her always carried.

Years of battling and conquering recurring episodes of cancer and its treatment's side effects had left her weak but her laugh was still as strong as Michonne remembered as Steak and Relish made a rowdy appearance, to Miss Tina's delight. Michonne made a deal with the spirited blessing of her bygone years that, on her nurse's insistence, she would leave after the ceremony to get some rest if Michonne would come to the airport to see her off. It was a deal easily struck.

But now Michonne wept again as she absorbed her king's words and feeling them ease over her slowly like the sun atop fields of wheat. "Rick…" she said his name in confident approval and watered-down censure, lowering her head, "My makeup."

Everyone who heard her laughed at the "classically Mimi comment" and a murmur seeped through the crowd as others toward the back asked what she'd said and laughed along at her unmistakably precious brand of vanity. A puff of a chuckle left Rick's primed lips, too. He sucked his teeth playfully and jumbled the order of Deanna's perfectly planned ceremony. Holding the right side of her belly with one hand and the dampened left side of her face with the other, he proved her smudge-proof lipstick a lie, as the force of his wet kiss smeared the flawless application. Inhibitions cast aside, he brought her into a recklessly delivered kiss to the applauding chaos of their jubilant audience… except for the one frowning face and shaking head on the front row that only Carl took note of.

His hand itched to slap her curvy backside just an inch or two away from his tender caress of her growing stomach. "Mmm!" Rick moaned at the pervasive taste of his…

She wasn't his wife yet and he realized as he pulled away from her cake-soft lips that he was holding up that announcement. "Sorry, Roe..." He apologized and let Michonne go to dip his head in contrition and cross his hands respectfully and, he hoped (for the kids' sake) _casually_ , over his elongating stiffness. "Go 'head, Chonne." He encouraged the woman setting his desire ablaze to begin with her vows.

"I'll take over, here, Rick… if you don't mind." Deanna said, making everyone laugh again as the groom reddened.

"Fix his face, sweetie." Carol called out to Michonne from the second row, cracking a rare smile and lazily pointing at her own face, indicating the crimson mess on Rick's.

To another round of the onlookers' chuckles, the bride and the groom's hands shot to his mouth, simultaneously. Their busy fingers went about trying to clean up his ravaged face together, his strong jaw and pronounced chin already darkening from the reemerging stubble of this morning's professionally-tackled straight razor shave. Michonne was glad for the moment of levity. As Deanna asked her to begin her vows to her partner, her radiant smile made it easier to keep her tears at bay.

"Rick, I'm ready to do what it takes to be the wife you deserve. You and Carl are more than I would've hoped for." She touched her belly, sobering with the thought of motherhood. "Our babies are more than I…" Michonne's voice cracked with the fullness of her well-protected heart.

"Maggie!" Rick whispered urgently for the southern belle's attention and she perked, expertly tossing him the near empty packet of tissues. He snatched them deftly out of the air to dispatch her tears.

"Our babies are more than I would've hoped for." Michonne continued talking as she accepted the tissue from his big strong hands, but her tone stabilized as she shook off her tears to establish her vision of their future. "All this hope you've given me, I'm grateful. I won't take it for granted. I'm going to be the woman you believe I am. I'm going to make all of you so proud. You'll always be proud of me Rick, I swear." She gave him a resolute smile, "I promise."

* * *

"Terry?" Michonne sighed when she heard her friend answer her boyfriend's phone. "Where the hell is Mike?"

"Technically, he's here." Terry looked back at the man in question after coming out of his room to stop the constant ringing of his boy's phone. "He's out here on my couch, still passed out from last night. I told him to take it easy."

"Great." Michonne's sarcasm came biting through the phone.

"Oh, shit. What's wrong?"

She resigned herself to her usual state of mind when it came to Mike. Her tone mellowed, as she walked into her bedroom and put her cup of spiced chai on her nightstand to cool while she ironed her shirt. "Nothing. Y'all turned up last night, huh?"

"All the way up. I can try to wake him up, though."

"No. That's okay. Let him sleep. I'm not in the mood for his hangover attitude." She smoothed her hair back and over her locs in frustration and began to arrange her shirt precisely on the ironing board. "Fuck…" she said just needing someone else to know how he was screwing up her plans. "He picked me up after I dropped Black Panther off at the dealer for maintenance yesterday. He's supposed to meet me at my job to take me to pick it up this morning."

She had worked late and gotten a ride around the corner to her building from Heath, who, despite Michonne's big umbrella, insisted she not walk home in the mild sheen of rain. Now, instead of only being absent, her boyfriend was inconveniencing her as well. But more importantly, he was breaking another promise.

"Don't trip, Mimi. I'll come take you." Terry said walking back to his room to get dressed and leave at her word.

"No. It's way too early to ask you to do that. I'll just get Blondie. I know she's up already and in her downward dog position or eating her cardboard bacon by now."

"Oh, yeah?" Terry acknowledged the mention of Andrea with a smirk. You paint a pretty picture, Mimi. Tell your girl I said what's up."

Despite her frustration at the morning's turn of events, Michonne laughed at Terry's not so secret crush on her best friend, "That is my _brother's_ girl, Terry. Don't make him beat your ass. Bubba got a short fuse and he does not play when it comes to Drea."

"Oh, I heard they broke up…" Terry poked for information.

Shane and Drea had broken up a matter of weeks ago, but Michonne didn't believe it would last very long- certainly not the months it took them to reconcile. As far as Michonne was concerned, their split would be over any day now and she told Terry as much. They're just going through a rough patch right now."

"Hey, I like Shane, but that man is fresh off the farm. It ain't beyond me to call his probation officer with some bullshit and get his ass sent back if it means I could get a taste of Drea." He joked, rising from his mattress to gather his dirty laundry to wash.

"Don't even play like that, boy." Michonne warned him through a involuntary chuckle, "Thirsty ass… my bestie is a loyal girlfriend. She already did time with him. She'll ride with him no matter what."

"Like you been riding with Mike?" Terry queried with sarcasm, surprising them both with his seriously unimpressed tone.

"Hmph." Michonne scoffed and rolled her eyes. "No. Not like me and Mike. Not like me and Mike at all."

Terry nodded in agreement with her estimation of her and Mike's relationship. "So, let me ask you something, Mimi," he said stifling a yawn as he sat back on the edge of his bed, "How long you gonna do this with him? That's my boy, but y'all don't belong together."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean y'all relationship ain't goin nowhere."

"Who says it's gotta go somewhere?"

"Nobody…" He backed down, hearing the ignition of her resistance turn over. "I'm just saying from what I know about you, you don't seem like the type that would settle for something that's not going anywhere. When it comes to your art, your business… Everything you do, you do it big. How are you gonna do anything big with Mike?" He scoffed.

Michonne didn't give him an answer, but not for lack of trying to find one.

Terry took her silence as permission to continue, "You're a nice girl, Michonne… you try to be anyway. I think Mike just makes it hard for you. You're taking him to the Future concert… backstage passes, all that. All the hook-ups you gave us for our party… while he just blows his money all the time…"

"Well, I'm not the best with managing money, either." she said, uncomfortable with the praise he seemed to be giving her and unsure of where the conversation was going.

"I know. That's another thing… He blows his money and you always have his back. When you blow your money… He never got you, even though, he could help you out if he wanted too."

"Why are you saying all this, T?"

Terry had a lot of reasons for saying all this. A big one was this early morning call and the sleep still in his eyes. Another was the couple's ability to ruin everybody's mood with their carelessly loud arguments whenever they all went out as a group. But Terry had a new reason to push for their break up.

His uncle's step daughter had recently moved to the area and she came to their little outing last night. Terry noticed Gabriella and Mike hit it off right away. Common interests between the two ignited a spark that turned into them pairing off inconspicuously for the rest of the night. The more he thought about the concept of his cousin and his friend, the more he thought she'd be a better fit for him than Michonne.

Before she left, Gabby asked about Mike's situation and Terry downplayed his friend's relationship referring to Michonne as someone Mike was "talking to", instead of calling her his girlfriend. Terry felt a small twinge of guilt but the drama free night he'd had without a flare up from the Mentos and Pepsi mix of Mike and Michonne overshadowed any remorse that could have made him revise his statements.

"Honestly Michonne, I don't know." He dropped his head and sighed. "I just care about you. Like, you're a real one…"

As much as Michonne got hit on, she still wasn't convinced she could name that tune, but she wanted to be clear, "Uh, Terry… I'm not sure what to say, but I'm with Mike and this is…"

"Nah, don't get me wrong." He was quick to say through a chuckle. "Unlike Mike, I know my limits. I am _not_ trying to take Mike's place, Mimi…not _at all_." he emphasized. "You're a good girl but you're still … way too much for me…" he began to laugh wholeheartedly. "I just want you to be happy."

Michonne was actually tired of Mike but something was stopping her from just dropping him completely. She told herself that she was tolerating him because his birthday was coming up and she didn't want to ruin it for him. She was still hopeful that the concert and his birthday party would be boons to their relationship and push them back into a fun place, but if Mike's best friend had some insights, she would listen. "And… what's gonna make me happy, Oprah? How do I live my truth?" she patronized him.

"That, I don't know." He admitted. "Like I said, I know my limits. I'm not trying to be your life coach. But I'm sick of hearing him whine about something you did that threatened his manhood or something you said that cut him deep and I'm sick of you calling _me_ looking for him."

Over the year that Terry had known Michonne, he fell into adoring her like most people did. He was amazed by her spirit, her tenderness, her complexity. He envied her brothers and sister, the way she decided to claim them as her own and make them family. And he saw that they really were family, it wasn't semantics. He really wished that he could be a permanent part of her life, too. He could feel the thinning nature of their relationship and he didn't want to lose her when Mike, inevitably, did. He was trying to help end her relationship with his best friend before he became collateral damage.

That was exactly what ended up happening.

"So, this is not about my happiness…" she teased. "You sound like I sound when I'm babysitting my little nephews and their fighting is driving me crazy. Is this your version of separating me and Mike so you can have a moment's peace?" She heard Terry laugh but he offered no argument. "It's funny because it's true, huh?"

"A little bit." he confessed.

That conversation came back to mind as she sat in her Chiavari chair at the wedding party's table watching Terry approach her over the deep jewel tones of the aromatic centerpiece before her. She was always impressed with how well he cleaned up, though he never tried as hard as Mike. The dark burgundy suit jacket he wore over his black shirt and tie was a bold but winning choice on his hazelnut skin and he looked even better with Rosita on his arm, dressed in a pale blue off the shoulder cocktail dress. Her lips were a striking red and stretched into a wide smile, just like her date's. Michonne smiled back with happy eyes, but she and Terry's regard held the shared knowledge of how far she'd come to find herself a bride to the chivalrous groom beside her.

She couldn't believe it when she got a call from Terry asking if it would make any waves if he came to the wedding. Michonne was shocked to hear that Terry had been dating Rosita for months and neither knew they had a mutual connection. They met at his cousin Gabriella's birthday party. He agreed to be Rosita's date to her boss's wedding. But when he found out the names of the bride and groom, he decided the polite thing would be to ask if him being there, as her ex's best friend, would make her or Rick uncomfortable.

Standing for a genuinely receptive shake of Terry's hand, Rick made it clear that he harbored no ill-will.

"We're gonna head out, boss." Rosita shouted over the music.

"You sure?" Rick asked with a raised brow. "The party's just getting started." He said gesturing to Tara cutting a rug with her girlfriend in a deep purple fitted shift dress. Her hair was parted down the middle and hanging in soft curls, instead of her usual utilitarian ponytail, Michonne had pointed out to Rick what a looker Tara was when she saw Merle barking up the wrong tree with her and Denise. Michonne knew that the older Dixon was well aware of Tara's sexual preference, and Rick had to remind her that Merle was the same guy who nicknamed himself the 'Lick-her License Inspector'. "Come on, Terry, man. You can't get 'er to stay?"

"We haven't even thrown the bouquet…" Michonne interjected to sway them.

"We don't need to be here for that." Rosita giggled. "I don't want to make this guy nervous when he sees me tackle Florence to catch those flowers." She caught Terry with her elbow on a light knock to his ribs. "You know how competitive I am, Grimes."

"I actually wouldn't mind seeing that." Michonne mumbled loud enough for Rick to hear and he turned to cut his eyes at her sternly, but his crooked smirk betrayed his attempt to reprimand the teasing comment about his mother.

It hadn't mattered to Rick much whether she would come or not. He wished she hadn't come when she made a comment about how the wedding venue was too "gaudy" for her taste and how that must have been due to Michonne since Rick's first wedding was much more "simple and elegantly understated".

Rick never had a great relationship with his mom. He was his daddy's pride and joy which seemed to grate her nerves while she doted on his brother, Dwight. In fact, she was only there at the behest of her younger son, who was her spitting image and regularly announced favorite. Rick and Dwight got along well enough which was no small feat factoring how his mother tried to drive a wedge between then throughout their childhood. He never understood it, but his mother seemed to be an unhappy woman and over the years, Rick found that few things were truer than the adage 'misery loves company'.

Never having witnessed the full dynamic of the Grimes family Matriarch with both her sons, Michonne saw the familiar pain of displacement in her husband's eyes. He was like a stepchild to his mother. She finally saw why her past never put him off. Instead it always drew him closer to her. He knew what it was like to be rejected all his life by the person who should have loved you most. And when his father gave up on life, he felt what total abandonment was like too.

Florence and her inexplicable bitterness finally ran Dwight off to man an oil rig off the coast of the Netherlands. Rick was sure that his little brother thought he was doing everyone a favor by making their mother come. Dwight was often caught in the middle of Florence and Rick's fissures and took it upon himself to smooth things over between the big brother he loved and the mother he dared not challenge. At any rate, Rick was glad his brother was there, even if it meant enduring his mother's rancorous disposition.

He found him among his guests solemn-faced, standing over Daryl and Carol's table, conversing. His business partner since fourth grade paper routes, was really the only other person Dwight knew well at the intimate reception. Rick couldn't help but smile and think how, despite his mother's efforts, he and Dwight always fell into the well-worn grooves of their relationship no matter how much time passed with them apart. Rick was proud they had remained close despite the distance between them. He reflected for a moment that it was good to have his baby brother with him for the weekend before he tore off back to obscurity in the middle of the ocean.

Terry broke into Rick's thoughts and admitted, "It's actually my fault we can't stay. I'm going to visit my mom at the nursing home. I want her to see me strut in with this pretty lady on my arm."

"You made a good choice, man." Rick extended his hand to Terry again for a farewell shake and acknowledged Rosita. "This one's a rider." he parroted Shane's oft-repeated description of Andrea and advised, "Just don't piss her off… these little fists of fury can do some damage."

Rick and Rosita compared fists as Michonne stood up and waddled around the table to say good night to Terry and his girl. "I'm glad you came, T." Michonne pulled him in to a hug.

He didn't ever remember her being a hugger. But, he thought, maybe she reserved hugs for her inner circle and he smiled with the hope that she'd consider him family one day. "I wouldn't have missed this… Mimi- Living her truth." They both laughed at the memory of that call. "I feel like I can take a little credit for this on some level." Terry gestured between her and Rick, "I like to think that conversation pushed you in the right direction?" He cocked his head to gauge her willingness to recognize his part in this whole fairy tale outcome.

Before she could confirm or deny his role, Jerry announced the bride and groom's first dance. The cheerful bluegrass banjo of 'Sweetheart Darling of Mine' began to play from the speakers and Michonne noticed Florence head for the exit in a huff. Terry raised a mockingly skeptical brow at the blatant country tune. "Don't look at me like that, T!" Michonne slapped his arm as her friend teased her with twisted lips about the song choice. "This is our song!" She defended the selection over her own laughter, realizing how hick-ish it must've sounded to a man whose personal playlist range went from Nas to Dipset.

Though Michonne did prefer Rick's acapella version of his daddy's song, she had decided no other song would better qualify for such a special moment. It had become their song the moment he sang it to her belly in the hospital and everyday the twins she carried danced to _their_ daddy's private performance of the song. Even Carl knew the lyrics by heart. It wasn't something she'd expect Terry to understand.

"Nah, I know, Mimi. Rick got you dancing to that 'possum-skinnin' music at your wedding." He joked sarcastically, "That's cool… It's a little bit too much 'yeehaw' for my taste but do you."

Rick ended his conversation with Rosita and walked up to his wife with the biggest smile, extending his hand to lead her to the designated dance floor of the large rustic home. "Darlin'." he called her to his side and she came quickly, lifting the skirt of her gown to follow him excitedly.

"I love the way you 'yeehaw', daddy." She told Rick, loud enough for Terry to hear. The three of them laughed as Mr. Grimes spun his wife into his arms on a happy two-step. The applause of their family and friends rushed the newlyweds with a tidal wave of love and support, the room brimming with every version of love that God had made.

Michonne pulled Rick's lips in for a kiss with a playful tug of his undone bow tie and settled into him as close as Steak and Relish would allow. Under the lights strung up across the ceiling, twinkling like stardust, she got lost in the sapphire paradise of his eyes.


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: Thanks for your patience people. Real life got me and then the flu. Hopefully, you will enjoy this chapter about Lori.**

 *****Trigger Warnings*** (incest & female subjugation)**

 **~comewithnattah**

* * *

"How's my wife doing today?"

"She's coming around."

"Excellent, Babysis. You really have a way with her. So, can she come out today, you think?"

"That's up to her."

Negan bent his knees, crouching on his lace-less boots and rested his elbows on his knees covered in charcoal denim, to give Lori a winning smile as he examined her tear-streaked expression. His face was as handsome as it had always been but now the sight of his dark masculine features, obstructed by the coated metal of the dog cage, sent her cowering. "So, what do you say, Lori Love? You decided? You wanna be my pet or my wife? I told you either is good for me. Actually," he said motioning over his shoulder to his younger sister who was standing behind his white marble kitchen counter peeling an orange for him and giving Lori a smaller but even creepier smile, "I think Arat, here, prefers you as a dog." He chuckled. "But she says it's up to you. You think you want to come outta there today?"

It had crossed Lori's mind since she'd been in Arat's clutches that maybe Negan _had_ brought her there to be a toy for his sister. He was gone most days and she was left to Arat's mercy. She had tried everything she could to win over the 20-something young woman. But for the past week she had slowly began to realize that it was Arat, not Negan, that she needed to fear. Of course, Negan was a monster in his own right, but he at least had some fondness for her. Arat, on the other hand, despised her. Which was ironic given the caramel-skinned crack pot's love of western culture.

...

When Lori first arrived in Jeddah, she found that she had gotten over her initial nerves about traveling with Negan to a foreign land. In heroic fashion, he had broken the window panel on the side of her front door to move the heavy piece of furniture and pull her out from the predicament she was in, she cried on his shoulder. He teased her a bit for the way he'd found her but his humor in the situation only seemed to make her smile even though she had cried non-stop behind her bookcase for hours before he'd arrived.

He promised to get her another phone when they reached their destination. He urged her to forget all about what was happening at home, that all the problems in her life would seem insignificant once they got to the Kingdom. He had been telling her the truth, nothing in her life back home was as bad as this. Arat had given her actual dog food to eat. Negan didn't have a dog, so she had to go out and buy some. That was the day Lori realized that this was all a game to her deranged captor. By now Lori hadn't eaten in days, refusing to even acknowledge the bowl of brown paste, although she did feel an illogical kind of relief that Arat had poured the clumpy congealed contents of the aluminum can in a bowl right in front of her face… that way she could be sure the psycho sibling hadn't tried to poison her.

Lori considered herself lucky that her kidnappers didn't seem to want her dead. Although she thought she might die from heat stroke when Negan had allowed Arat to keep her in the dog cage out in the gorgeous landscaped courtyard, under the blazing sun. The noise-cancelling windows of the house had effectively silenced Lori's constant screaming for help. When she finally understood that Negan's neighbors didn't hear her or didn't care, she stopped the racket and they "rewarded" her by having her cage brought back in. Negan was right, all her previous problems seemed insignificant, indeed.

Looking back, she saw that her thirst to believe she was becoming Negan's whole world and that he was saving her from her own, blinded her from _seeing_ the truth. She had been so happy, nibbling the richest chocolate and sipping Moet while she gazed out the plane's window as they began their descent from the nighttime sky to the landscape below. The terrain seemed to be scattered with stars as the city sparkled and Lori giggled from her first-class suite on the plane. The tiny space was appointed with the finest wood-grain and leather. It was the most luxurious space she'd ever been in and it made her tingle with excitement to see what it would be like once she landed and fully entered his world.

He told her that she needed to sign a few papers that said she'd be with him while she was there. It didn't seem odd. She had looked up a bit of information on Saudi laws and culture when she first began to think about going. She had read the experiences of people, particularly women, who had gone there, and she knew while she was there she had to have a male guardian. That didn't bother her much, based on what she'd read from other women online. That little stipulation would only be an issue if your male guardian was a dick, which she was convinced, Negan was not.

Pictures she'd seen of his sister left her with the impression that the young woman's life in the Kingdom was happy and carefree. Arat was a cute girl, somewhat darker than Negan, though they shared the same eyes, based on snapshots and videos he showed her. The lightened edges of her chestnut brown hair where often covered in the pictures of her out and about. But she kept an unruly curly coif that she left untamed indoors. Lori felt sure that she would have the same breezy, bubbly experience in Negan's care.

When they made it off the tarmac, Negan did not hide his happiness to see his sister. A booming voice called to the young woman in Arabic, turning heads in the crowded airport. Lori noticed the siblings brief embrace seemed to make onlookers uncomfortable, but Negan defied their stares with the same brazen smile he gave her whenever he embarrassed her with over the top PDA. Reaching to shake hands with Arat, Lori immediately put on her most pleasant tone and face. Negan's sister made less effort to soften her features toward their guest. Lori was completely thrown off when Arat grabbed into a brusquely delivered hug and planted a kiss to each of her cheeks, through an unchanged expression. It was obvious from her subsequent glance at her brother that the display was to please him and not to make her feel welcome. Lori hummed through a nervous chuckle assuming Arat could not speak English as she went right back to communicating in their native tongue to her brother.

Two big men stood a few steps behind Arat. Lori could tell based on their practiced stern mugs that they were security, like Rick. And her lips curved in a vindictive little smile to think that, in societal rankings, her ex would be a lackey on Negan's payroll. That one thought could have put a Band-Aid on the heartache she was still trying to ignore, instead it just reminded her of Rick and Michonne. She rolled her eyes at the creeping memory and took a deep breath to focus on enjoying herself with Negan.

Right away, she could tell Negan was someone important in the Kingdom. As they walked through the well-lit modern space of the airport, a few random people came up to shake his hand, bowing repeatedly, almost groveling. He didn't have to wait in lines. Their luggage was carried for them by airport attendants. With a body guard leading the way, another bringing up the rear, two ladies following closely and airport staff trying to keep up, Negan had a noticeable entourage and Lori thought she could get used to this.

She walked through the airport enjoying all the secondhand attention of being next to her man. Even their paperwork was handled in a private airport office. She signed page after page of travel documents written in Arabic as Negan playfully whispered in her ear explaining the particulars of each form. They were out on the street and speeding through the metropolis in his cobalt blue Veyron Bugatti in no time while his sister and his security followed closely in a Carpathian gray Range Rover.

When Lori got to his seaside villa and everything was as he'd described, she was impressed. The tour he provided of the elegant two-story modern space would've seemed like the typical bachelor pad if it were not for the spacious terrace boasting pretty views of the Red Sea, a state of the art bathroom with a shower like she'd never seen in the states, even a rooftop pool with a large motorized awning to block the sun at any time of day. Negan took her to see everything he'd promised those first few days. Though she could have done without Arat's constant presence and the grating sound of her bullying the bodyguards in their mother tongue, she was having the time of her life like he'd promised.

She did forget about her life back home. She couldn't hear Michonne's moans reverberating in the back of her mind. She couldn't hear Rick adoring another woman. Everything melted away, even Carl. A few times she did ask when they would get her phone and Negan told her it was being shipped and that the mail system in his country would need a complete upgrade to reach the U.S. status of snail mail. That answer satisfied her for the moment and she settled back into her unforgettable vacation.

One day he took her out to see all the properties he owned, some recently renovated, some still under construction. Lori raved genuinely over the colorful mosaic inlays, the stone-crafted columns and all the attention to detail Negan put into the real estate bearing his name. And though he had shown her the pyramids and the sphinx, she looked on the man himself as a true wonder of the world, proud to call him her own. She had no clue how much she would come to wonder about his sanity. She couldn't reconcile his reliance on his sister with the power he clearly had over her. The more attention she paid to the two, the stranger their relationship seemed.

And then one night after they'd come back from Cairo, dressed in her tom-boyish attire of a ratty cut-off t-shirt and checkered pajama pants, Arat walked right into Negan's bedroom without so much as a knock. She spoke sleepily to him in a softer version of their language and, as if she had pushed a certain button, Negan got right out of bed to follow her out of the room. When Lori asked if everything was alright, he shushed her sweetly and bid her to go back to sleep. Checking the digital clock on his nightstand, she turned over to do just that, trusting he had everything under control.

Another harassing dream of Rick and Michonne's moaning pleasure threw her violently from her slumber. When she rolled over to check the time, she became concerned when she found that Negan was still gone from their bead and according to the numbers glowing in blue, he had been gone and hour. Even awake, she could hear the echo of her nightmare rattle her mind. She went to go find her boyfriend, so he could help her get back to sleep.

She padded down the halls in her long pale green nightgown and matching satin robe passing by the large dining room and kitchen, scanning the courtyard through the large sliding glass doors that led outside. She found no trace of him as she investigated the security camera views displayed on the monitors in the closet-like room of his surveillance hub. She finally ended up at Arat's room and when she heard the girl cry out, Lori quickly swung the door open with an impulsive unease.

The sight she encountered nearly floored her. Arat, spread eagle across her bed in her tattered t-shirt, and Negan thrusting determinedly, completely naked between her legs. The pitch of their pleasure bounced around the room, smacking Lori in the face like the errant metal chair in a wrestling skit. She interrupted their unnatural coitus with a profanity-laced scream, that barely broke her boyfriend's plowing rhythm and failed to even open Arat's eyes. Negan had briefly acknowledged Lori long enough to calmly tell her to go back to bed right before he finished with a grunting breath over his sister's sighs of satisfaction.

Lori ran out of his house, setting off the alarm and flooding the premises with bright spot lights. She took off into the chilly night barefoot, in her skimpy sleepwear. Negan's guards came out, not to give chase, but to watch her run herself ragged. With nowhere to go and no way to get anywhere, after running approximately a half a mile to his front gate, she came back to the warmth of his house. She, however, refused to come any further than the first seat from the entry.

That was when Negan finally came out to her, in the bottoms of his own flannel p.j.'s, and told her exactly how he wanted things to go. He told her he expected her to stay there with him and his sister permanently or, at least, until she bore him some children. Arat wanted children, he explained, but the risk of an incestuous pregnancy was too great to risk.

Lori was sick. She demanded to know why he would bring her all this way for such an ungodly purpose when there must've been countless women here in Saudi Arabia or anywhere else who would be willing or just as easily _forced_ to give him what he wanted. Negan's reply was almost jovial in tone and devoid of any compunction. He told her he, indeed, had plans in that realm of thought. He confessed, though, that when she ran into his car that day and sneakily slipped him her number right in front of her boyfriend, he chose her right then. He liked her naughty daring. Even as she regretted the entire incident through her sobs, Negan congratulated her on her "beach-ball sized lady nuts".

That sneakiness was why she was in the cage today.

After stealing one of Negan's cars and escaping the compound with one light bag of her essentials and her passport and papers, Lori was apprehended by police for driving without a male guardian's permission. When she tried to explain to an English-speaking officer about her ordeal, he seemed to sympathize. But he explained that there was nothing he could do since she had married Negan, she was under his jurisdiction.

Lori assured him she hadn't married the man and that she did not intend to. She begged to go home. Whether Negan was punished or not, she just wanted to go home. The policeman assured her she wouldn't be leaving the kingdom without her husband's consent. He pulled out the guardianship paper that Negan had given her to sign at the airport when they first arrived. It was actually a certificate of marriage, the officer told her. The process is usually longer and stricter but, according to the officer, important men like Negan do not have to wait like everyone else. The marriage was legal, binding and signed by two witnesses- his bodyguards.

Lori bawled uncontrollably then, begging for help. But, even if anyone wanted to help her, there was nothing they could do. She stayed in a holding cell until Negan sent his guards to collect her. When she saw the men's faces they were black and blue, having been beat by Negan as punishment for letting her escape. They both looked as though they could have killed her themselves right then and Lori nearly wished they would rather than return her to her "husband".

She found out Arat actually spoke perfect English, just like her brother, when she crossed the threshold into Negan's villa. The cracking smack across her face stunned Lori and forced her to her knees as her "sister-in-law" spewed every demeaning word over her huddled body as though all this jealous nastiness had been dammed up inside her just waiting to get out. Negan stood by silently, dressed in a suit for work. He closed the door on the scene of his flunkies snaking a chain around her waist to fasten her to the dog cage where she was deposited despite her blood-curdling cries of bloody murder.

...

Now as she watched Arat round the kitchen counter with a plate of orange wedges in her hand, Lori was coming to terms with her situation there. Arat held her broken "pet" in her vicious stare as she brought one of Negan's black leather and chrome dining chairs, sliding across polished cement floors. Catching his sister bringing him a seat in his peripheral, he stood up from his investigative posture in front of his captive's cramped prison and took leisurely steps backwards to sit. Arat wore a tiny pair of black gym shorts and a gray sports bra and her brother reached for her as she sat the little saucer of fruit in arm's reach on the top of Lori's cage and stood next to him.

Lori's mouth watered at the sweet tangy smell wafting through her tiny jail. She wished she'd preserved her voice to ask for the rind to eat, but her voice was all but gone from days of her fierce screams and hopeless tears. Arat braced herself in a lean on the back of his chair as she rolled the pulp from the wedge she'd stolen off his plate around her tongue.

She fed a piece to Negan, catching her fingertip between his teeth, her brother puckered his lips around her digit as she withdrew it from his mouth and put it to her own, bringing the remnants of his taste to her tongue. As the juicy citrus filled his mouth, he pointed at Lori and mumbled through the mouthful, "Now, I know your IQ barely reaches room temperature, hun," he said wrapping a hand around Arat's bare thigh and pulling her into his lap, "but you gotta see that gettin' with the program would be so much better than this setup." He motioned to her heavy-duty steel quarters and Lori began curling herself up into a ball. Arat reclined comfortably against her brother's chest, her hands splayed across his as he held her around the waist.

Lori knew what he meant by get with the program. He wanted her to stop trying to run away, stop being obstinate, realize this was her new life and submit- kneel. Ever since she saw what she saw, she'd been trying to get away from him and his sister. She recoiled every time he attempted to touch her.

Negan said he'd never force himself on her, but he wouldn't let her go either and that's all she wanted- home. If she ever got back, she swore she'd make amends. Lori thought of all the people she wronged. She had manipulated Carl and Rick and Daryl and Florence and Shane and others for longer than Negan had been grooming her and, like him, she never showed any remorse. She had been cruel, cruel like Arat when she left Michonne exposed to the elements of a cold December day.

"You can't see it now, Lori, but this is what's best for everybody. You pressed and pressed for me to meet that kid of yours. And I did it for you." Negan thought back, "You know, all Carl talked about was spendin' the month with his dad and 'baby got back'. I'm savin' everyone a lot of awkward showdowns for custody… and by _everyone,_ I mean, _you_." He said smugly, "Cuz, let's face it… that kid is happier with them and you'll be happier here with me, if you think about it."

Lori was smart enough to understand that living in chains like an animal would surely hinder her progress to ever see her home again. She knew the cell he promised her would never come. She knew that if she wanted to see Carl again, she'd have to be in service to Negan for her foreseeable future. Envisioning her miserable life with the people looking down on her now, a life of hostiles and calamities- was enough to turn her stomach and would've pushed her to another weeping fit had the well of her eyes not been exhausted of tears. But she had something they needed, and she was trying to believe that if she made herself their new best friend, she could get over this rock in the road and make it to the other side mentally, be the go-getter he was demanding she be.

If he wanted a baby, she needed to give him one. If Arat said ''sing me a song", Lori decided she would force herself to snap her fingers, tap her toe and smile through it- as long as her heart was still beating. What she knew for sure was that they would bury her there, either by killing her outright or watching her waste away before their heartless eyes, if she didn't comply soon. She just had to dig deep and find a way to say yes, to swear that she would be on board with whatever they demanded. Maybe the first day of the rest of her life was still on the horizon somewhere far, far away from there…

The rattling of her chains captured Negan and Arat's attention, breaking their carelessly deepening kiss.

"Hey, hey, hey, Babysis." He tapped her knee and tossed his chin toward Lori as she rose from her side and got on her hands and knees, "We got movement. I think she might be ready to play ball."

Arat turned with an anticipatory smile, like a kid at the circus wondering what the show would dish out next. She slipped out of her brother's lap taking her turn to crouch and peer into the cage at Lori. She looked the terrorized woman dead in the eye, "I need proof." Arat's gaze went from Lori to the bowl of dog food she had placed in the cage.

Understanding exactly what she wanted, Lori swallowed down her shame and rage, more ready to puke from the overload of toxic emotions within her than from the unappealing aroma coming from the bowl. She crept toward the doggy dish, steadying herself in her resolve. Lori reached a hand out to bring some of the cold mud-colored mush to her mouth with the tips of her fingers, when Arat sickening giggle stayed her messy finger tips in the bowl.

"Negan, you ever seen a dog eat with its hands?" Arat asked, snickering through the question.

Negan sighed as though he didn't approve of Lori's continued humiliation, but he wore the same evil smile of curiosity as his sister as he waited to see what the proud privileged American would do.

Forgetting Arat for a moment, Lori made one last attempt to beg for mercy with a pleading stare into Negan's eyes. Callously, he raised his brow for what sounded like a last offer, "Babysis is waitin' Lori Love. What's it gonna be?"

Her heart crushed, her pride in tatters, her defiance permanently broken, she lowered her face to the bowl and chomped a mouthful of the disgusting slop into her mouth. She shut her eyes tight as she swallowed it down. The humiliation of it all was compounded by the fact that she was so hungry, she hoped they'd demand that she clean the bowl.

"Gotdamn! That is some nasty shit!" Negan boomed through his laughter. "Okay…" he scrunched his face in disgust, "Stop, stop, stop." he said on a dramatic shiver of revulsion. "She gives up, Babysis. Let's get her outta there."

Arat was still laughing heartily, now more at Negan's reaction than Lori's. "No, wait!" She countered excitedly as Lori swallowed another mouthful, "Let's see if she'll eat it all." Arat flashed a menacing smile at Lori's full cheeks and sloppy face and spoke condescendingly, "She's gonna be a good little bitch. Aren't you, Lori Mutt?"

….

Lori slipped Negan's phone off his nightstand as soon as he put it down. He was busy packing for another week-long trip, which meant she would be at Arat's mercy until he returned. She couldn't do another week with Arat. Arat was positively insane.

Smoothing her hair back on a deep breath, Lori decided to call the last number she'd memorized, or the last number she _thought_ she'd memorized. She couldn't be sure, contact lists and touch screens were really dis-servicing her now. She wished she could remember any other number but Michonne's number was all that came floating up from the recesses of her mind. It occurred to Lori that she might have been somewhat obsessed with the woman. But in this moment, Rick's girlfriend was her only hope.

"You have reached Mrs. Michonne Grimes' phone." Lori recognized Carl's mischievous voice right away. Tears came rushing to her eyes as she slid down the wall of Negan's master bathroom, trying to pull herself together. She had to be quick and quiet in her attempt to eek out an S.O.S. for her son. Her heart leapt for joy when she heard her child say, "Mom?"

"Yes!" she whispered urgently. "Yes, it's your momma! Carl..."

"Mom!"

"Carl!" Lori dared to raise her voice. She could hear some type of party in the background, but even over the noise she was relieved that her son knew it was her.

He called her name again, "Mom!"

She heard Rick approach. "Carl, what are you doin' with her phone?"

"It was ringing... an unknown number… I just wanted to see what it'd sound like to say her new name to someone."

"Well, hang up. It's probably a telemarketer or somethin'." Lori heard Rick guess. "Everybody that's important is here with us. Come on. We're gonna cut the cake."

"Okay." the young man agreed and addressed the caller again. "Sorry, my mom- _Mrs_. _Michonne Grimes,"_ he stressed, "can't come to the phone right now."

"Carl!" Lori shouted desperately, but not loud enough. "I need your help! Carl! Please!"

Realizing that Carl had not been calling her mom, but instead, he'd meant Michonne was like a stab to the heart. The bleeping chime of the ended call was the final nail in her coffin.


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: I'm glad you all survived that last chapter. #karma #noremorse LOL**

 **This is a single chapter update, but I hope I made it good for you.**

 **Love you guys.**

 **~comewithnattah**

* * *

Florence had taken ill after the reception. The February air was even more frigid at the higher elevation of the horse ranch Deanna owned and the icy temperatures aggravated Florence's arthritis. Apparently, she had nothing on old man winter when it came to cold bitterness. She had another day and night at the hotel but Michonne had insisted her mother-in-law stay in town, so she could be looked after until she recovered.

But, even if Carl had stayed with Tyreese and Noah, like Michonne's brother offered, Florence wouldn't have been able to climb up into her grandson's loft bed. With all the excitement of his upcoming nuptials, Rick hadn't thought about Lori once since she'd been gone. Carl was there with him and Michonne, and everything seemed... settled and Lori's absence seemed… right. But now he couldn't help but wonder about why the hell she wasn't back from her vacation with her boyfriend yet, especially since Florence would have definitely preferred to stay with her son's ex-wife if she could have.

Instead Florence's lonesome state was stressing out Michonne's tender heart. Regardless of her miserable affiliation with the notorious faultfinder, she felt it was a dereliction of duty on her part as Rick's wife that all she could offer his mother was a pull-out couch. Michonne also _attempted_ to feel bad about being so picky on her house hunt… but the place she established as a home for her husband and children had to be _just so_ or she would go full American Psycho. So she didn't feel one iota of guilt for dismissing all the properties Jessie had shown her or upping the price point or adding to her wish list.

Against Rick's better judgment and promise to himself not to feed into what he was sure was another one of his ex-wife's temper tantrums, he had Eugene investigate her whereabouts just to make sure she was okay. Porter was a godsend as far as Rick was concerned and he put the cyber-surveillance sorcerer to full use instead of reaching out to the skinny little whacko personally. Eugene tracked Lori and Negan like a digital bloodhound through software, hard drives and firewalls. Finding her time-stamped video image in multiple locations around Jeddah, Giza, Istanbul, Cairo, Rick's 'Nerd of all things net' informed him that she was alive and well, exactly where she said she'd be.

The news that she arrived in Saudi Arabia safely, relieved and infuriated him at the same time. But when Eugene emailed Rick documentation that she had actually married Negan without even calling to tell Carl, he decided that was the last straw. Dealing with Lori stemmed solely from his efforts to set a good example for Carl, an example that he now believed would be better taught by his love of Michonne as opposed to his toleration of Lori. He was going to let her live her life in the desert with her version of prince charming while he focused on being that and more for Michonne. He just hoped that his son would forget about her as easily as she seemed to forget about him.

Florence did a good job of hiding how disappointed she was in Lori. She felt that her ex-daughter-in-law's behavior sullied her name as well, given her constant support of her. But Florence refused to acknowledge the damning proof of Lori's absence more than a month after she was expected to return. Really, there was nothing she could say to defend her leaving her only child to run off with a guy she barely knew. Though Lori's level of selfishness was a shock at first, Florence had to admit it wasn't a surprise. In the face of Shane's kindness- offering he and Andrea's guest room to her while her achy joints recovered, Florence had to re-evaluate her attitude toward this part of Rick's life.

One attitude that remained firmly set was Andrea's. Michonne's best friend disliked Florence ever since Michonne told her how things went when she and Rick made the trip to meet her. The grudge-holder of Michonne's inner circle wanted to put the geriatric grouch up in a motel and call it a day. But with Shane leaning to his sister's frame of mind to kill the bitter old shrew with kindness, Andrea folded. She gave in to her husband with the expressed promise that if Florence Grimes so much as blinked her eyes wrong in their house, she wouldn't have a second thought about putting the old lady out on the curb with recycling.

Andrea kept herself busier than usual at work to avoid having to entertain the notorious curmudgeon, but Shane was pleasantly surprised at his knack for elder care. His deep southern charm with all the 'yes ma'ams' and the 'bless your hearts' and the old bible belt dribble that he'd forgotten he spoke so fluently. If he was honest, he enjoyed talking to Rick's mom. She reminded him of his own. Not in every way, but the more seasoned niceties were markedly different from Maggie's modernized sweetness.

Shane spent these past mornings making Florence breakfast and setting her up with their remote control while he worked. And when he needed a break from writing he'd pop in and watch one of the day-time judges on TV that Florence seemed to live vicariously through. When she wasn't judging and throwing the book at dysfunctional defendants, Florence got a kick out of Shane as he recounted his childhood stories … the best ones always included Michonne.

"For my birthday one year, Mimi knew I wanted a dog. So, I come in my room one day, an' there's this big ol' dog on my bed…" Shane gestured with his arms wide. "He had to be 40 lbs!"

"Oh, goodness!" Florence jumped into a giggle. As Shane poured her a little more tea from his seat in the club chair by her bed where she sat comfortably in the lemon and cream-colored bedding of Andrea's well-appointed turquoise-painted guest room. The show on the TV had been paused for about 20 minutes while the two chatted convivially. "How'd that child get such a big dog in the house… and stray at that! He could have been rabid!" She said covering her mouth, aghast as she accepted the saucered teacup from her host's hand.

"No, not rabbit. A dog." He joked with a charming grin, lifting the lid off the teapot playfully pretending to sniff its contents for anything like liquor. "We still drinkin' tea ain't we?"

"Oh, hush!" she waved off his joke. "Now, come on. Strays can be dangerous. It's a wonder she wasn't bit." She took a sip of her cup.

"Ev'rybody and ev'rythang loves my sister." Shane took a bite of BLT and continued with one cheek full of sandwich. "You can see that, Florence." They were on a first name basis with each other and Mrs. Grimes was enjoying herself, but she wasn't ready to admit any love of Michonne. Though, in front of her new friend, Shane, she would never be as unreceptive to the woman's name as she had been to the woman herself. A quiet hum into her green tea was the only response she gave him. But Shane noticed over the napkin he was using to wipe his mouth, that Michonne was not exaggerating about Florence's attitude toward her. Shane was determined to fix that for his sister though. "Actually, how she got Biscuit in there is the best part of the story."

"You named him Biscuit?"

"He was kinda this off-color o' white… yellowish, with crusty brown patches of dried dirt. He looked a lot like a biscuit." Florence sneered in disgust at the thought and laughed at the unbelievable ease that all kids find their way into mischief. "So, all that evenin' we were in my room playin' with Biscuit, which really only amounted to pettin' him 'cause he never got off my bed. He's layin' their pantin' and shakin'. He won't stop shaking and his breath was brutal! So Mimi, gets him one of her blankets to warm him up and then we decided to share my toothbrush so Biscuit can have her's."

"Oh, no! Ew!"

Shane laughed, "So we're feedin' my man, Biscuit, bologna from the fridge… sneaking cookies from the pantry. Morgan had meatloaf for dinner that night and a'course we brought Biscuit some in a napkin. We hid'em in my closet when it was time for Morgan to tuck us in that night. But as soon as he left, Michonne came in my room and we both slept on the floor with my not-so new dog. Then in the morning we get up… get ready for school, bring'em bacon from breakfast, close'em up in my room run out… head to school… when we get back home that afternoon..."

"Oh no…" Florence winced in anticipation of everything that could've have gone wrong. "Did he wreck your room?"

"Nope. Didn't get up all day, far as I could tell." Shane smirked, knowing the climax of the story was coming. "He was right where we left him… on my bed. Lookin' right at us as we came through the door. We tried to feed him some chicken nuggets we saved him from lunch,but he wouldn't eat. Then Michonne picked him up and his whole body fell to the side, slumped over. He was gone. Dead as a doornail. Died while we were at school."

"Oh, my word!"

"So now, we gotta tell Morgan. Cause we don't know what to do with a dead dog!" Shane explained with big gestures, "So Morgan comes in he shocked and confused, like 'There's a dog in my house!'. He's holdin' Michonne, she's hysterical. I'm beggin' him to do CPR on Biscuit…" Shane laughs, trying to convey the chaos of that moment. Some of the other kids that were livin' there at the time hear Morgan screamin' about a dog and they start tryin' to push into my room all excited about gettin' a dog."

"This is insane!"

"I know!" Shane agreed with Florence. "Morgan checks the dog out and it turns out he must've been hit by a car or somethin'. He was paralyzed, back legs didn't work at all. Which would've been sad enough, but Morgan also felt a big… massive… like boot-sized tumor in his neck from God knows what. So, buddy boy Biscuit was on his way out 'fore Mimi found 'em anyway. We gave him a funeral in our backyard and me and my brother, who didn't even know about Biscuit, sang "Hallelujah", off-key. Mimi made us. She made us get dressed up too."

"I'll bet you guys were awful cute."

"We were cute 'til we started scratchin' ourselves raw from the flea bites. They were just a hoppin' and bitin' after they jumped ship from Biscuits old rottin' carcass."

"Oh, for heaven's sakes!" Florence exclaimed with exasperation.

"I think I got a picture 'round here somewhere." Shane stood up and went to the closet of the room, found a decorative box on the shelf and pulled it down. "Yeah," he sighed thinking fondly of that day, "wherever old Biscuit is, I'm sure he's grateful to my sister for making his last day on earth his best day." Taking his seat again with Florence's full attention on his every move, he opened the box in his lap and took out a handful of old 4x6's photos. He shuffled the top picture to the back over and over until he found the one he was looking for.

The day was sunny. Green grass grew taller than it should have under their church shoes. Morgan's old white and woodgrain station wagon sat in the background and Shane grew wistful as he remembered riding with his kind-hearted foster father. He was wishing he could've had one more day with the man. But he choked back those tears in favor of a smile, taking in the image of his chubby, curly-headed 11-year-old self.

He wondered if Andrea was carrying a son and if he could be half the father to his own child that Morgan had been to a scared little white boy, to a big angry teenager, to a full-grown drug-addicted inmate. Or maybe he'd be able to father a daughter and teach her how a man should treat a woman. He would teach her how to take care of herself, so she could avoid the kind of life and death his mother endured. He always believed his mother guided him to Morgan's house from her place in heaven. And now he believed that they were getting everything they wanted because Morgan was up there now, pulling strings too.

The picture reminded him how he'd held Michonne, sobbing, buried against his chest. His arm in his unbuttoned sleeve was hooked around her shoulders in comfort. She stood there in a purple floral print lace dress and frilly socks. Tyreese was in a bow tie, stationed on Shane's other side holding a bouquet of wildflowers over the hole in the ground that became Biscuit's final resting place. Simon, Eli, Olivia and one other kid whose name escaped nostalgia, were there paying their insincere respects. But he and Tyreese looked so forlorn and he remembered it was more for Michonne's sorrow than the loss of their 24-hour pet. Shane had to admit to himself as he handed the snapshot over to Rick's mom, it was the cutest scene.

"Where's your other sister?" She asked, after smiling adoringly at the picture. "The one with all the kids."

"Yeah, Sasha." He reminded the woman of his oldest sister's name. "She wasn't with us yet. And thank God for that," he said with a relieved chuckle, "Morgan woulda had to bury me and Mimi beside Biscuit if her mean ass woulda got one flea bite because of us!"

The older Mrs. Grimes and Shane sat for a good while longer, pouring over the box of pictures. Her funny host kept her grinning as he gave her a story for every new scene he passed to her.

Stories of Michonne's fledgling artwork. Stories of Michonne's doll collection that she treated like real babies, long after other girls her age moved on to more mature pastimes. She got teased a lot by Sasha for playing house with cabbage patch kids and Shane love the irony that, when they got older, Sasha and Abraham were the ones who kept red-headed cabbage after little red-headed cabbage coming into the world.

Florence found that looking beyond the vixen in the hip-hugging jeans to see the little girl that she had been had begun to melt her sneer into a smile. Despite herself she realized she wanted to know more about the brown-eyed chocolate kid with a big bright smile, who always seemed to be helping everyone while also making a right mess of things in the process. Florence could see Michonne's big heart and it started to dawn on her why her son was so smitten.

"Let me ask you, Shane. Without any pre-judgements," she made inquiry to her daughter-in-law's brother. "You think this thang with your sister and my son'll last? They're so diff'rent. Hard to imagine they want the same thangs outta life. I mean once the fun starts to wane…"

"I had a time comin' to terms with their relationship, too." Shane nodded. "Maybe you know, I was datin' Rick's ex for a bit?"

"Yes. She mentioned it." Florence admitted, keeping the details Lori had given about Shane, to herself. After days with the man, she found Lori's eventual characterization of Shane as an ignorant jailbird with no prospects completely incorrect. But what she heard next nearly dropped her jaw.

"Lori told me Rick used to hit 'er."

"She said what?!" Rick was never her favorite, but she knew how she raised him. Despite the violence of his profession, she knew his anger was always controlled. His daddy was the same way.

"Yeah. I don't know her reasons for tellin' that lie. Now that I look back, you'll forgive me for sayin', but I think that girl was pathological. And I was a fool. I was so caught up worryin' about my sister, I didn't even question what Lori said... I couldn't stomach even bein' in the same room with him. I lost my mother to a woman beater."

"I'm so sorry, Shane." Florence said sincerely. "What was your momma's name?"

"Judith Walsh-Mallet."

"I went to school with a Judith Walsh." Florence noted the coincidence and her mouth went dry with an unsettling trepidation as she inquired further, "She was younger than me. I knew her sisters better. Did your mom have sisters? Abigail and Marilyn?"

Shane's eye went wide, "She did! Last time I saw either of 'em I was just a little anklebiter. Don't keep in touch with Aunt Abbi and Aunt Lyndi, that's what we called Marilyn, she died before momma did. Didn't never see her much. She was a singer, I think. Always on the road."

"Yes. She was." Florence whispered as her mind raced to make connections from Shane's past to her own. She would've called it impossible for Marilyn's name to come up in a conversation with her new daughter-in-law's adoptive brother. She struggled to stay in the present, listening to Shane as he went on to tell about another shocking mess that Lori had made.

"I tried hard to protect my sister from Rick. I really thought he was a threat. Didn't have nothin' to go on 'cept Lori's word. But, you know what Florence?" Florence looked Shane in his eyes, now hanging on his every word. "I spent Thanksgivin' with 'em. I wasn't gonna go, but I decided I needed to see what kind of person Rick really was and be there for Mimi in case he really was the monster I was so ready to believe he was. And you know what?"

"What?"

'I saw who he really was… with his friends, with my family, but mainly with Mimi. I saw how much he loved 'er. He loves 'er like I do, but he loves 'er more. I didn't think it was possible. Wasn't nothin' he said or nothin' specific he did. Can't really explain it too good with words. I just saw the way he looked at 'er. I saw his love for 'er with my own eyes and I knew, he was the guy for my sister.

Florence knew the look Shane described. It was a look she saw in her own husband's eyes… when he looked at another woman. A woman who was nothing like her and a lot like Michonne. A woman her oldest son's blue eyes would never let her forget. A woman to whom Shane was, unbelievably, connected. Like Shane with Rick, Florence's past heartache pit her against Michonne, though the love of her son's life had never done anything to earn that kind of suspicion. She wondered if she was a big enough woman to see Michonne for herself without comparing her to a long dead rival. Could she do a better job in hiding her jealousy in dealing with an innocent Michonne than she had in her regretful treatment of the innocent little boy she raised?

….

"Morning Florence."

"Hey, Shane. Morning, Gram."

Michonne and Carl shouted greetings to Rick's mom as she slowly ambled out of Shane and Andrea's house. Shane jogged up behind her and held her elbow as she gingerly took the two steps from the stoop to the walkway. Carl hustled up to get his grandma's bag from the foyer as Michonne climbed out of the driver's seat of Rick's big Suburban truck with her growing belly in tow. She mosied at about the same speed as her elderly mother-in-law.

Michonne opened the back hatch and pushed aside a few things to make room for Florence's bags. Rick's mom had enjoyed her stay more than expected, growing fond of her host, she wanted to get home before she became a bother. The weather forecast was threatening snow and she didn't want to be stranded. Michonne was not looking forward to this trip without Rick, but she didn't want her husband to make the long drive tomorrow after he came home from days of an usually stressful job. So, she was grateful she had Carl and her brother as a buffer between her and the other Mrs. Grimes.

Michonne was caught off guard when Rick's mom came up and pulled her into an unexpected hug.

"Thanks so much for the ride back home, dear." Florence said with a genuine smile, stroking Michonne's arm. The woman patted her protruding belly. "You sure you're up to it? Steak and Eggs won't fret such a long trip?"

"It's Relish and Steak, Gram." Carl corrected her nonchalantly as he hauled her bags into the bed of the SUV and Michonne turned from Florence to help him situate the luggage.

"Sorry. Yes. Relish and Steak. I don't want my grandbabies or my daughter-in-law to be uncomfortable."

Michonne and Carl shared a private look of confusion over the small suitcases before them. Neither of them had ever heard Florence Grimes acknowledge the babies or Michonne for that matter. She certainly never seemed willing to claim anything about this marriage or the family her son was making. Before Michonne could shake off her shock and respond, Shane appeared after locking up his house.

"Florence, did I hear you call shotgun?" Shane said with a plotting grin as he helped his new buddy to the front passenger side. He and Florence had an unspoken agreement to find her a way into Michonne's good graces after all these months of standoffish behavior, that the widow Grimes had to admit was all her doing. But she was willing to try. She'd had a change of heart and was truly contrite.

Michonne for her part continued dumbstruck in the driver's seat. She gave her brother an eye that betrayed her confusion as he jogged over to her and gave her an arm to climb up in the cab.

"M-" Carl caught himself before 'mom' passed his lips in his grandmother's presence. The young man had been calling Michonne, mom ever since the reception, like someone had given him the free and clear title to a black mom. He hollered, whispered and whined 'mom' whenever he and Michonne were together. He even took a page from her book and changed his contact picture in her phone to him displaying a big toothy grin and a word bubble that said: 'My mom is better than yours'. But he didn't think his grandmother would appreciate the change in designation, "Michonne bought everybody coffee." Carl said handing out the to-go cups of the welcome hot beverage on such a cold day.

"I already knew!" Shane said happily, accepting a cup from his fellow back-seater, "You got doughnuts?"

"Of course, Bubba." Michonne passed the already diminished number of doughy treats back for her brother to distribute. "What kind do you like Florence? There's a variety there."

"Oh, Thank you, Michonne. That's very thoughtful." Florence said after a sip of her coffee. "Mmm. That's good! Hmm, let's see. Are there any crullers?"

"Yep. That's the best thing about road trips with Mimi," Shane informed Carl and his grandma as he passed her a doughnut in a napkin, "It's all about the snacks and…"

Just then, Michonne turned the ignition and the speakers blared with the song she and Carl had been banging out to at full volume, Lil' Wayne's '6 Foot 7',

 **Paper chaser, tell that paper look I'm right behind ya**

 **Bitch, real G's move in silence like lasagna**

The sudden powerful racket nearly made Florence drop her coffee as Shane finished his sentence, "... music."

Carl giggled in the backseat and Michonne covered her mouth in embarrassment as she jumped to turn down the stereo. "Sorry, Florence." She looked straight ahead as she put the car in drive, not wanting to see the usual balled up expression return to her mother-in-law's face.

"Oh, don't worry about it, dear." Florence said to Michonne's surprise, as she dropped her drink in the cupholder and used her fingers to tuck any stray curls of her salt and pepper hair back into place. "Was that Jay-Z and Beyoncé?"

"It's Lil' Wayne, Gram." Carl corrected through the mouthful of doughnut he was working on.

"No. It's okay, Florence." Michonne insisted. "We'll play something more appropriate." She said as she switched to the bluegrass album that 'Sweetheart Darling of Mine' originated from. The female lead voice rang out over a melancholy track and Michonne smiled nervously at Florence looking for her approval of the genre.

"No, really. It's okay, Michonne. Your Little Jay music is fine with me." Florence tried to change the music back, frantically, as though the sound of that folk music burned her ears. She finally pressed the biggest button on the console and effectively turned off the system altogether.

"You know, if you don't mind, we could go for a little while without any music." she said collecting her composure, "I'd like to talk to you, get to know you a little better. A few hours' drive seems like the perfect opportunity."

"Okay." Michonne agreed, even as her eyes peeked to her brother and son through the rear-view mirror. She saw Shane pulling out his laptop and Carl putting his earbuds in place. Michonne sank at the feeling that this would be a long trip with Florence in the front seat attempting conversation.

….

"I can't believe Bubba told you that story!" Michonne giggled along with her mother-in-law.

"What?" Shane replied in innocence. "That's a classic Mimi tale."

"Oh, don't fret any, Michonne." Florence patted Michonne's arm. "I have a good number of stories of Rick and Dwight's antics, believe, you, me. I hope you're ready for that level of craziness when those babies get here." Florence casually put Michonne on notice. The older woman was comfortably conversing with the occupants of the car, though Carl had fallen asleep to a Young Money lullaby. It felt good to engage in a tempered version of Michonne's kind of rowdy chinwag. The laughter was all the more heightened by Shane's wicked jokes and the caffeine from a 20 oz. coffee. "I'll never forget the day Everett brought Rick home. The little stinker was just learnin' to walk and he was into ev'rythang. A few months later, I had Dwight… It wasn't the same as having twins, but it sure was overwhelmin'."

Michonne smiled nervously not sure if she'd heard Florence right. She searched for Shane's eyes in the rearview mirror and found him giving her an equally dumbfounded look. "Uh… Florence. I'm gonna do another bathroom break." she said, quickly taking the next exit off the highway. The centrifugal force of the winding road brought Carl out of his slumber and he sat up, pulling out his earbuds and taking in his surroundings. Michonne pulled into a parking spot at the nearest fast food restaurant, "Shane come with me." She spoke pointedly and turned to the older woman beside her, "Florence, would you like anything when I get out?"

"I sure would like it if you called me Mom."

Having missed nearly all the social banter of the car ride thus far, Carl furrowed his brow at his grandmother's request, "What the hell?" he mumbled to himself as Florence reached for Michonne's hand sweetly.

"Okay, tell me you heard the same thing I did, Bubba…" Michonne insisted through a whisper, not looking back as her brother followed her brisk pace into the burger joint. Before he could speak, she continued, "You heard her say when Rick's dad brought him home he was already walking and that she had Dwight a few months later, right? So, what does that mean? Rick's dad brought him home? _She_ didn't bring him home from the hospital, like most mothers… that's what you heard too, right?" Shane opened his mouth to speak but before he could get a word in, his sister continued her ramble as she twisted to hold her bladder, "So is she not Rick's mom? That's what it sounds like, right? Rick never mentioned anything like that to me, _ever_. Oh shit! What if Florence is not his mom? That would make so much sense! It definitely sounds like she's not. And she's telling me to call her mom? What is really going on? Is she high? Is she senile? What did you do to Rick's mom?"

"Mimi!" Shane whispered urgently and finally got her attention as they stood near the bathrooms in the back of the diner. "Flo is tryin' to be nice. Seems like she had a change of heart. And you're right, from what she said, it also seems like she might not be Rick's mom. But you know how old ladies get. Maybe her words just didn't come out right and she meant somethin' totally different. You wanna interrogate her about it when we get back in the car? A little good cop, bad cop? I get to be Crockett, you can be Tubbs..."

"Bubba! Shut up!" She said, still doing a little tinkle two step. "We're not turning this into an episode of Miami Vice! This is serious…" She slapped her brother's shoulder and his excitement died down, "I have to pee! I can't think straight. Wait here."

….

Emptying her bladder did not help Michonne find a plan of action. Should she ask Florence for an explanation? Should she just tell Rick and let the two of them sort it out? She didn't want to upset Rick if it was just a misunderstanding. What if she found out that this was a secret her husband had been keeping from her? What if after laying her soul bare to him, he hadn't trusted her enough to do the same? And, of course, there was always the real possibility that her pregnancy brain was turning this into a big deal when it really wasn't.

She looked over at Florence, who was resting her eyes, as they reached the last leg of their trip. She and Shane had jabbered themselves into a quiet slumber that Michonne was happy for as the gears in her head turned relentlessly in search of a solution. She took in the older woman's craggy features. If Florence had kept a secret all this time, was it right to force open her hand? Maybe his mother was protecting him from something even more life-altering. She pondered whether she would ever lie to her babies. Would she ever lie to Carl if she knew the truth would hurt him? It was a question she couldn't answer, and it frightened her that she didn't know what to do. Was she ready to be a mother and make hard choices like truth or pain? Was she capable of being what her husband needed if she didn't know exactly what that was?

"Mom?" Carl's voice broke into her worries, calling her in a whisper from the back seat. She turned to see him sit up a little straighter, putting down the book he was reading for school.

"What's up, kid?" she answered him back with a plastered-on smile.

"Are you and Gram cool now?"

"Me and your grandma have always been cool…" She whispered back, twisting her lips and bulging her eyes in a comedic display of sarcasm. "Flo been my A-one since day one."

Carl scoffed, "I just want you to know, you don't have to be fake to get her to like you."

"When am I ever fake?"

"You're not. But Gram makes people that way… I don't know… Lori was like that."

"Lori, your mom?" Michonne stressed with a chuckle and wondered how far Carl was planning to take this erasure of all things Lori.

"Nah, Lori my dad's ex-wife." He said with a deadpan expression that made Michonne laugh to herself again. "She used to act all sweet in front of Gram and then get on the phone with her sister and act like a b-"

"No sir." Michonne stopped him quick before he forced her to switch it up on him. "Be your daddy's son. Say what you're saying like a man, without being disrespectful."

Carl hung his head hearing the seriousness in Michonne's voice. "I'm just saying everybody acts like they're scared of Gram. But me and you can change that. This is our family and if there are people who want to be in it, then they have to download that 'ack-right app'." He whispered forcefully, using another one of his favorite trademarked sayings of hers and pointing to the back of his snoozing grandmother's head.

Call from Zaddy… Call from Zaddy….

The amplified computerized voice coming through the car's bluetooth system interrupted Carl's manifesto, startled Florence out of her sleep and Shane raised a brow briefly to open one eye and then snuggled back into his coat and his sleeping position against the door. Michonne answered Rick's call with a touch of the dashboard's screen.

"Hey, baby." Rick greeted Michonne, his deep voice filling the truck's cab. "You got me on speaker?"

"Hey, handsome. Yeah. We're still driving but we're almost there."

"Can you pull off the road somewhere? I need to speak to you in your office." He said, requesting a private conversation.

"Ok, gimme a sec. There's an exit coming up."

"Okay." Rick turned his attention to the passengers he knew were in the car. "Hey, Carl."

"Hey, dad."

"Mom, You okay? How you feelin?" He asked earnestly after Florence's comfort.

"Oh, I'm fine. It's been a very pleasant ride getting to know Michonne and Shane better."

Florence shouted, leaning closer to the console screen thinking Rick would hear her better.

"Shane, thanks for taking this ride with them, man. I really appreciate it."

"I aint doin' nothin' 'cept sittin' in the back seat getting fat off fast food. Mimi won't let me drive."

Rick smiled at Shane's petulant complaint. He was happy that his brother-in-law was in the car to watch over his family for the trip but even happier that Shane wasn't behind the wheel, driving like a madman. While his wife could border on aggressive in the driver's seat, her current increased maternal instincts made her much more cautious on the road than her brother would have been, and Mr. and Mrs. Rick Grimes had the shared intent to keep Shane in the back with Carl.

"Well, you know she likes to drive but now she can hardly get in and out of her little car." Rick tried to lightened Shane's mood with the mental picture of his petite younger sister and her big baby bump trying to maneuver herself into her sports car's low-riding frame.

Rick's trick to redirect Shane seemed to work as he heard his classic teetering in the background noise of the call. "She needs to go 'head and let me take that sweet little ride off 'er hands. A carseat won't fit in there, let alone two!" Shane pointed out for his sister's benefit.

Instead, he perked Carl's attention, "Nope, Shane. I start driving this year and she already said Black Panther is mine." The young man broke the news, leaving his company in the back seat flabbergasted and disapproving. Michonne caught the look of betrayal and shock on her brother's face in the mirror and laughed.

"Carl never teases me about my belly." She explained with a shrug and then exchanged a fist bum with her white son over her shoulder. Shane was just about to make a solid case for why he should get the car instead of Carl when Florence returned to the ping-ponging conversation,

"Richard, remind me. Who was that little boy that got thrown in the pond full of leeches? I was telling Michonne about some of you and Dwight's devilish misadventures and I can't seem to get that story straight in my head."

Rick went quiet for a moment at his mother's cheery disposition despite being with Michonne. He moved past his confusion when his mother called his name louder for an answer. "That was me, mom."

"You?"

"Yeah. Merle made Daryl help him throw me in that pond to prove his loyalty to his big brother. I still guilt 'em about it to this day."

"It _was_ that Dixon boy!" The memory dawned on Florence clearly, then. "Got so I can't remember a thing." she mumbled to herself in frustration, then reignited her usual choler, "That Merle! He was a natural terror! I still can't believe you hired him on to work with you."

"Sometimes you need to be a natural terror in my line of work, mom."

"Speaking of work, how are things going babe? My sister bossing you around yet?" Michonne asked, tickled at the thought of Rick being Sasha's superior. She hoped her sister was being an asset for her husband and not an adversary.

"Not me." He said, confidently. "She's a soldier. She respects rank, thank God. But I think she's been hurtin' Merle's feelin's. Heard 'er call 'em a 'Tobacco stain on the dress shirt of life'." Rick chuckled. "She's the terror now."

"There's a new sheriff in town." Shane joined in with Rick's amusement at the Sasha/Merle dynamic.

Michonne finally made it to a shopping center parking lot. Florence was now the one who was in dire need of lavatory accommodations. She grunted and groaned as her joints and bones made similar noises. Gradually, she made her way out of the car with Shane's assistance. Michonne took Rick's call privately, holding her belly as one of the twins inside seemed to protest the end of the soothing movement of the car's speed. While she chastised Steak's rebellious nature, she observed that her earlier nervous thoughts were slipping off her shoulders like an ill-fitting spaghetti strap now that she heard her husband's voice.

"Yes, sir?" She used her "Rick Grimes' sexy assistant" voice like she always did when he asked to step into her private cell phone office. "What can I do for you?"

"I miss you." He answered quickly.

Michonne's smile went supernova and she noticed Carl smirking at her obvious reaction to his father's unheard words. "I miss you, too." She said a little quieter for some reason she couldn't explain. "I thought you had something serious to discuss."

"I do." Rick's timbre sobered and Michonne wondered for a split second if everything was okay. "Got a taste for somethin' sweet…" he rasped, and his wife melted, instantly catching his drift.

"Chocolate?" She raised a brow with bold insinuation. Bold enough to alert Carl to the reason this conversation needed to be private. He went running to escape grown folks' business and find Shane and Florence in the nearly vacant strip mall.

Rick sent a moan of approval and anticipation through the phone. "Mmm, Yeah, that creamed-filled chocolate. You got summa that for me when I get back?"

"Yes, I do." She purred as her cheeks started to burn.

She loved getting these phone calls from him, to know he was thinking about her all the time. But she hated them, too. The sound of his deep voice and his wolf-like growls brought her womanhood to life only to wait idly until his return. At the same time, she loved how much she craved him. She'd never felt anything so intense with anyone else. It made her so confident in their extraordinary synthesis, that she softened to mush in her heated leather seats and sighed nonchalantly at the imaginary sound of her pussy screaming for him to come home.

"Yes, you do." He agreed, with a whisper that set her skin aflame and she wrinkled her face, wincing from the heat. He paused long enough to make her squirm. Then he finally spoke, "Got some good news just now…"

"What?" Michonne asked eager to distract herself from the sultry silence with whatever he'd actually called to say.

"They're shutting us down cuzza the weather."

She was too elated to react. She nearly shed a tear. "So, you'll be home when I get back?"

"That's right." he said. "So, I want you to drive safe… but hurry up and bring that pussy to me."

* * *

 **A/N: Guess what happens next...**


	37. Chapter 37

Rick paced his parking spot, back and forth, with a fluid stride like a hungry shark in a tank. He was in the garage waiting for his "chocolate". He had already waited hours for her to reach their building, he wasn't going to wait for her to ride the elevator to the 14th floor. He wasn't even going to wait for her to get out of the truck. He needed her so badly. The dust colored, darkening sky and the first few fat snowflakes that plummeted through the brisk air had him impatient for the warmth of his wife.

Besides the night they spent on the side of the snowy mountain making love in Deanna's big ranch house, life after their vows had been almost exactly like life before they said I do. Rick and Michonne went to work and Carl went to school. They both agreed that they didn't have the luxury of time to traipse off on international excursions for a honeymoon. Michonne was nearly in her sixth month of pregnancy. She wasn't fit to do any major traveling in her condition and Rick had a lot of work to do getting ready for next month's job.

Michonne had wanted to wait to do a honeymoon somewhere exotic, where a bikini was the dress code. She was willing to wait until she got her baby-less body to reappear, so she could do a bikini justice. Rick loved her in a bikini. Her lower lips were always plump and begging him to pucker up for a kiss. He loved her in her big downy parka, too. He could never keep himself from circling the full apples of her cheeks with his thumbs whenever they were framed by her fur-trimmed hood. The day hadn't started off cold enough for that level of winter wear, but lucky for Michonne, Rick also loved her in her plum colored wool and cashmere poncho. He loved her in those velour cream palazzo pants. He loved the shade of the tawny pink peplum shirt she wore. Michonne had been in those clothes all day and she couldn't wait to get out of them. Rick loved her in anything she put on… and he couldn't wait to take it all off her.

The dark blue truck, decked in chrome, came around the large concrete pillar of the underground garage of their building. She saw him waiting there, one booted foot raised flat like his back against the cinderblock wall and his hands in the pockets of his dark, zippered khaki field jacket. The sight of her wide white smile stirred his manhood and quickened the beat of his heart. The pale beam of the daytime running lights coming from the vehicle illuminated his blue eyes when he looked up, turning them to crystal. A faint upward curve of his lips ghosted across his features then disappeared like it was never there.

The bass from the subwoofer sent little shockwaves from her warm seat to her overheated sex as she sang along loudly to _AM_. The album was one of the mementos she'd picked up from life with Rick and so, aside from genuinely loving every song on the album, she always thought of her husband when she heard the distinct chords of the guitar. Rick recognized the familiar tune, as she approached, rattling the windows as her siren song.

He had a flashback to the many times he neglected looking at the road to let his eyes linger on the sight of his silly girl lip-synching and dancing happily in the passenger seat. When he drove solo, he liked to use the time to reflect and strategize. But if Michonne was in the car with him, so was music and her adorable pitchy singing.

Right now- now that she was home- he wanted to hear her sing his name to the rhythm he planned to make with his percussion to her dripping, hot canal.

 **Are there some aces up your sleeve**

 **Have you no idea that you're in deep**

 **I dreamt about you nearly every night this week**

 **How many secrets can you keep?**

 **'Cause there's this tune I found**

 **That makes me think of you somehow**

 **When I play it on repeat**

 **Until I fall asleep**

Rick maneuvered himself out of the car's oncoming path into the parking spot and stood near the driver's side door. His wife put the truck in park and turned towards the window still brandishing her bright happy smile. Before she could even crack the door, Rick was pulling it open hastily.

"Hey, Big Pop-"

Her attempt at an enthusiastic greeting was silenced by his own enthusiasm, as his tongue pushed roughly past her lips. His divinely built body leaning over hers confined her back to her seat. She kissed him back through a delighted smile and a smothered giggle when his elbow hit the horn and startled her. Rick didn't flinch. His mind was so focused on the smacking of their lips, he'd barely heard the loud noise echoing off the sub-level walls.

"What's so funny?" He asked her on a hard bite of her bottom lip.

She shook her head, amused at his behavior and giggled even more as he attacked her again. She nuzzled into his soft facial hair. He hadn't shaved since the wedding and his beard was at that perfect length where it didn't scratch or tickle, it just felt like cotton. He smelled especially good, like the snowy atmosphere, and combined with the octane and rubbery scent of tires wafting in the garage, Michonne was lightheaded and floating between her outbursts of giddy snickering and whimpered moans.

"Babe! Your nose is cold. What are you even doing down here?" she asked him above the music, still punching out a steady beat. He rubbed the frozen tip of his nose along her neck, suckling and smothering himself in her warm skin. Michonne moved her hands to cup his face and scratched slowly through his whiskers, breathing him in. She loved him so much.

She could guess the reason he was right there sliding her knees from under the steering wheel to stand between them instead of comfortable upstairs in their apartment. If she had to guess she would say it's the same reason she declined Florence's offer to come inside for a cup of tea once they got the old widow safely home. The same reason she broke down, held her breath and used the gas station bathroom while Shane refueled instead of stopping somewhere cleaner. The same reason Carl was forced to scrounge up second-rate snacks from Exxon's limited cashier's counter instead of waiting in various drive-thru lines for what everybody's individual tastes called for. The same reason she offered Andrea a raincheck to come in and taste her new recipe for meatless stew-

She had to get home to her husband. She wasn't going to wait. So, if she had to guess why he'd been biding his time right where he knew she would land, she'd say it was because he needed to feel her wide ass and her tight pussy as much as she needed to feel his soft lips and rough hands. And she wouldn't make him wait.

"I'm down here cuz you are." he rasped against her ear, pulling open her outerwear to get to her underwear. He slipped his hands inside, traveling from her smooth round belly to her back and splayed his long fingers down and over the voluptuousness she sat on.

Michonne squealed at the feel of his icy hands. "Rick! Your hands are freezing!" she protested, all the while participating willingly as he pulled her closer to his body across the surface of the leather seat.

He didn't respond to her gripe, he just kept ravaging her mouth, her neck… her breasts were harder to get to than he'd like with the top of her shirt having a more structured fit. That didn't stop his big hands from grabbing at them ravenously, squeezing them and biting at her nipples through the fabric. Suddenly, he stopped.

 **So have you got the guts?**

 **Been wondering if your heart's still open and**

 **If so I wanna know what time it shuts**

 **Simmer down and pucker up**

 **I'm sorry to interrupt**

 **it's just I'm constantly on the cusp**

 **of trying to kiss you**

"Okay." Rick stilled his hands and took in the sight of her face, relaxed, chin up, eyes closed, lips plump and parted. He let her go with a tortured grunt and stepped back, leaving Michonne's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Come on. Get in the back." he commanded, directing her with a nod of his head.

One hand stroked his long lucky cock as it moved like a shapeshifter under the denim he wore and the other held her glossy neutral-painted fingers to help her down. Michonne gave him a skittish glance before she scanned her surroundings for people, the height of the truck giving her a view to the deserted space. She took a deep breath and obeyed him. Her velveteen ballet flats hit the cement floor and Rick smirked, always finding her height without her heels adorably precious.

Michonne went to pull open the rear passenger door, but Rick immediately pushed it closed as he stood over her imposingly. Before Michonne could question his action, Rick repeated himself with a couple of light smacks that jiggled her wide bottom just the way he liked. Rick was the very definition of a _man_ , but sometimes he could be like a kid with a toy when it came to all that ass. "Nah. Not the backseat. The _back_."

She saw him incline his head again and this time she understood that he'd meant for her to go to the very back of his top trim vehicle. Rick pushed a button and the hatch of the SUV gradually opened as Michonne approached the rear of the automobile. Rick shut the driver's door and stalked her, meeting her near the bumper.

Michonne gathered what was about to go down and she was more than game. Making love in his truck was nothing new. Every time they ended up naked on four wheels, she thought about their first date, how perfect it had been. She thought of how good it felt to snuggle on his chest in the rec center parking lot, listening to his heart and memorizing the sound before she really knew him well. She remembered the dried spots of yellow under his fingers from all the swipes he made to his canvas correcting the little accidental drips from his brush as he tried to impress her with his amateurish stroke. She felt the same chills from basking in the twinkle of the stars through the sunroof.

This time, the sunroof stayed closed, but they both reflected the stars in each other's eyes. They stood toe to toe, an enticing grin pulling at her luscious lips while Rick pulled at her chunky hips. He brought her a step closer to him and hoisted her up to sit in the clean, spacious storage area of the truck. Rick watched her push herself back further into the dark interior as he hit the switch to lower the rear seats and extend the cargo hold. The truck's frame threw shadows over her form and she kept her eyes seductively on him.

He hopped up into the truck beside her and he barely had time to close them up in the unlit space before she grabbed him by the arm of his coat to pull him closer. "I gotta close the door. Let me push the button, Chonne." he stretched to reach it as she tugged him away from the operations panel to her body.

"But I need you to push _my_ button."

"Oh, I got ya, swee'heart." Rick promised with a cocky inflection, as his fingertip managed to touch the button and the hatch began to descend screening them off in a private little love den. They began removing each other's clothes. Michonne rose to her knees, ducking the low ceiling as she worked on Rick's jacket, then his belt. Her pants, pantyhose and panties were simultaneously dismissed by her husband in one downward motion. The three elastic waistbands gave little resistance, slipping down her hips and thighs. She crawled out of her bottoms leaving them deflated next to Rick's shoulder. The buttery smell of her arousal met him head on, making his mouth water and his jaw tense.

"Rick..." Michonne was settled over him, straddling his hips in no time, and pulling his black t-shirt over his head. She sighed as she ran her palms over his chest, grinding onto his engorged member that was still confined to his dark-wash denim, making a sticky wet spot next to his zipper. "Oh... my... God." Michonne's eyes rolled back as the man before her held the sides of her face in his hands, watching her reaction to what she felt in his pants, "You're so hard and… I want you so bad... I want you… so… bad."

"Mmm, fuck, 'Chonne…" He kissed her lips again, "I'm so fuckin' ready… C'mon and get what you want from daddy…" Rick gruffed out and pulled her hair back to lift her chin and attack her svelte brown neck.

Their long urgent kisses made disrobing take a bit longer, but they found it too difficult to go more than three seconds without tasting each other. All the tongue-tussling left their lips swollen and their eyes hooded. Rick's hands moved purposefully to Michonne's full breasts and he craved to taste her there next. "How the hell do we get you outta this shirt?" he asked impatiently, feeling her back and sides for a zipper.

Pulling her hands off of him made her groan, unhappy to give up the feel of his solid, well-defined body. She found her zipper hidden in the seam under her arm and as soon as she lifted the flared hem, he leaned over kissing her belly. It was one of his favorite places on her body for him to press his lips- even before it presented itself so brazenly with twins.

While he worshipped at her belly, her bra followed her shirt atop her other shed garments. Rick casted his view upward, lips parted. Her breasts were so much larger. They spilled out of his hands when he held them. It baffled him how much he could miss her smaller bosom and, at the same time, be so mesmerized by the heavy globes of flesh before him. Her nipples hardened before he could wet them with his tongue. The heat from the vents kept the space from being to brisk, still there was a chill that scattered goosebumps all over her skin. Rick rubbed his wide, thermal palms up and down her arms to warm her while his tongue teased one pert nipple, then the other.

"Damn, Michonne. All I wanna do is be inside you." he confessed, feeling the words bubble up from the place of his most carnal desires.

"Then why aren't you?" She asked him with a challenging tone, lifting off his lap. They both worked together to get his pants down. His tall, stiff dick practically sprang into her hands.

For months she was so strung out as the drug-like highs of the summer blazed nearly hotter than she could stand, but now those days of drunken love seemed like small sparks compared to February's heat. She bit her lip, anticipating another dose when Rick grabbed her firmly by the back of her neck for her back talk and she slid her sopping goodness onto is rigid length.

The feel of him widening her balmy center made them both grateful as they beheld the look of ecstasy in the other's eyes. Michonne winced at the perfection of his curved dick as it lodged snugly inside her weeping walls.

"Baby… this pussy…" Rick trailed off losing his words as he mentally sifted his mind for an end to his sentence...

' _... is so good...'?_

' _... is all mine...'?_

He decided on a warning instead of a compliment in that moment, "... is in trouble." He felt her body clench around his invading shaft, his words making her moan excitedly for the danger he promised her.

"Big trouble?" she asked coyly, pressing her rapidly moving chest into his to lay him flat on his back.

"You tell me…" Rick said from the floor of the space, bare-chested except for the fine swirls of hair she was running her fingers through. The graying brown stretch of tuft was soft as chinchilla and the feel of Michonne's nails clawing through his curls sent shivers up his spine and made his country boy grammar sound so much dirtier, " _Is_ it big trouble, baby? How's it feel?" He thrusted upward as he pulled her hips down, sure and slow.

"Mmm. Feels like I'm gonna be in this car a few more hours." she whispered wantonly as she started to move up and down on his dick, giving Rick a view to the honey-coated base of his erect girth. The sloshing sound of her wetness was loud enough to cut through the next song to serenade them. The chaotic tempo of 'R U Mine' hit the walls of the cabin hard, like the girth of Rick's steely dick inside the bouncing woman who was currently trying her best to drive him insane.

 **Unfair**

 **we're not somewhere**

 **misbehaving for days**  
 **great escape**

 **lost track of time and space**  
 **she's a silver lining**

 **climbing on my desire**

She knew the way her pussy gripped his dick on that upward motion of her hips would finish him before it would finish her. Being the southern gentleman, his mantra was "ladies first" and Rick considered her determined ride of his dense, hefty cock insubordination. So, she also knew that he would only indulge her so long. She stared into his icy eyes, defiant, as she brought him closer to the brink. His toes curled in his boots at the end of his long legs as he strained to keep his cool deep within her warmth. He breathed her name like a secret. It was a secret she already knew so there was no need to murmur.

"Yeah... say my name, daddy."

Rick was quick to heed her request and he said her name again with more strength and it hit her ears and then somehow the back of her throat. A deep breath rose her breasts that were cupped in his hands, drying her vocal chords. She gave him another throaty command for him to say her name again. He complied, her name all tangled in his twang and before she could peel the love away from the lust she felt her resolve slipping and her upper hand waning with every growling utterance of her name.

"Michonne." The sound of her name on her favorite pair of lips was about to make her cum and her husband was pleased as punch to feel her slow to a pace he could better manage. "Look at you." he said in a voice soft as the blanket of fluffy snow out on the sidewalks above them, "You thought that shit was funny, right?" He asked in a tease of her attempt to make him explode before she did. "Now, stop playin' and grind on this dick."

Her head swam, and her heart raced as her pussy rolled relentlessly onto his length. Rick bit his bottom lip when he felt the spasm in her core that previewed how hard she would crash in just a few more smashing winds of her hips. Her husband held both her forearms tight in his palms, flexing his biceps as she worked herself into a heated bursting release.

"I'm gonna… I'm… " she purred as her eyes rolled back, "Oh God… Rick… I'm gonna… c-cum…"

"I told you, get what you want from daddy." Rick said with volume over her rapid breathing and the music careening through the wire of the system.

He sat up some, pulling her forward by pressing his palms against her back. He covered her ridiculously tender nipple with his tongue, the sensation sent a shockwave expanding over her skin. When Rick pulled her hair with his free hand, thrusting deeper into her clenching pussy, it was the end of the road for her. She leaked her slippery juices all over his balls, making a little river between his closed thighs and his eyes rolled back as she convulsed over and over again, tightening her diehard grip on his twitching dick.

Rick wasn't done in the slightest. He took in the picture of his wife sitting with her head bowed, supporting her weight on braced arms and palms pressed into his chest. She was melting in the saddle and that ghostly grin emerged again at the corner of his mouth. He used his forefinger to lift her chin and found her lips withdrawn into her mouth and her brow knit from the sensation still racking through her in spurts.

"That was good, huh? Damn. I love to watch you come for me, 'Chonne." Rick told her through his mellowing breaths. "But you're so bad." He squeezed her chin between his finger and thumb, wiggling her drowsy head side to side. She opened her eyes and met his lovely blues and this time she gave him a self-satisfied grin.

"I've gotten you before." she reminded him of the rare occasions when he'd had too much to drink and fell victim to the superb swivel of her hips.

"A handful'a times." He granted with a tisk and spread out his jacket as wide as he could for her to lay on, then helped lower his giggling wife onto her side next to him, leaving his still-charged cock to slip from her body. His messy mop of curls fell onto his face as he leaned over on his elbow with her using his arm as a pillow. He danced his fingers over the evaporating dewy sheen of her skin and watched her try and regain composure. "This gray hair gets the best'a me sometimes…" he said humbly, and somehow the sound of his deep scratchy voice spilling modesty sent her barely recovered pussy back into overdrive. " … it's the law of averages."

"God knows, there's nothing average about you, daddy." Michonne combed her fingers through the mane he was blaming.

He kissed her cheek lightly and rumbled over her ear. "Is that why I'm coated in this sticky sweetness from the waist down?" He asked, fisting his cock with her juices. "I feel like a honey bun."

She laughed at his comparison and pushed the center of his chest playfully as a more rounded melody replaced the previous song. "When you say my name the _way_ you said it _…_ that's cheating." she found an excuse and ran with it.

"What? You told me to say it!"

"But you know what you did, Rick." she said and rolled her eyes slightly at his pretense of innocence.

"All I did was what you told me to do. I'm good like that." He put his face in her neck and kissed her a dozen times in the same sweet spot. "Say my name, daddy." Rick mocked her earlier command with a caricature of a feminine voice. "Say my name, daddy."

"Nooooo..." Michonne defended as her melanin hid all the blushing she was doing. "You said it too many times and you can't say it like _that_."

"Like what?" Rick asked satirically, as he smoothed his hands along her curves on a path to the apex of her thighs. "Like," he growled out her name with the sexiest cadence over her lips, "Michooonnnneee?"

Michonne threw her thick leg over her husband's waist and he slipped two fingers past her slick folds. Rick pressed his digits heavy into her pussy and his wife grabbed the hair at the nape of his neck in wordless approval. His index and middle finger made rough, shallow movements inside her while his thumb pampered her swollen uber-sensitive bud. She held his fingers in place with her other hand, but she never loosened her grip on his silky curls.

''Mmm, Rick. I love you." she declared unprompted. The feeling just overwhelmed her as she thanked God that she finally made it home to him- not the building where they lived, but the home that was exclusively Rick. She looked in his face, the sterile light of the garage making its way through the tinted windows giving her a filtered view of his handsome face. The crinkle around his indigo eyes, the pink of his lips and the slender slope of his nose.

He moved closer to her and she felt the powerful detail of his perfectly carved abs hard against her large belly. Big as she was, there was no room to see his beautiful cock between them and it gave her the feeling of being blindfolded. The smooth dripping head of his unseen erection lying in wait and pushing bruisingly into her thigh, leaving a lick of his murky pre-cum, made her delirious.

"Fuck me, Rick." she said too low for him to hear her. Still, he toed of his boots and lost his pants completely to climb on top of her just the same.

Neither of them said another word as they lay tangled, naked and kissing passionately, secluded from whatever the world had going on in the street and building above them. Rick lowered his head to her drawn sensitive nipples. He plucked at them with the stiffened tip of his tongue and then sucked them brashly in quick succession.

Michonne arched her back, "Daddy, please." On a desperate cry, she ran her palms anxiously over the side of her face and up over her locs. She pulled at the dense softness of her hair, urging him to put his warm heavy dick to use.

Rick pushed into her slowly, hoisting her leg into the air by the crook of his arm. He felt so good. His body angled to keep his weight off her stomach, had his pelvic bone pressed hard against her clit. He stirred his hips and her honey pot, holding off on thrusting until her now-swollen walls resettled to the width of him. He groaned out in delicious want when the tip of his length reached the spot he intended to stroke, deep inside her, without restraint. The brief tensing of his wife's muscles sealed her fate as he retreated and returned with jolting force to the very back of her slick satin tunnel.

"Yes, Rick… Ah, Rick. Yes, right there. Ri- Rick! Mmm… Oh… Rick!"

She was singing his favorite song and it wasn't the one being delivered through the Bose speakers in the truck. Even though the lyrics of 'No.1 Party Anthem' seemed to narrate this precise moment in time,

 **Her eyes invite you to approach**

 **And it seems as though**

 **Those lumps in your throat**

 **That you just swallowed have got you going**

 **Come on, come on, come on**

 **Come on, come on, come on**

 **Number one party anthem**

He looked down on her, pain and pleasure cascading her face through pouted lips and clenched eyes as she continued to spur him on to an Olympic finish. "I love you." He told her for what felt like the millionth time. Then he told her again just to be sure it took. "I love you, Michonne."

 **The look of love**

 **The rush of blood**

 **The "she's with me"**

 **The Gallic shrug**

Michonne open her eyes and let the blue bathe the brown in stardust. She felt his cock harden from granite to steel as he loved on her cervix with a treacherous bang. It was like it always was and it never got old. He had never felt better or deeper, even though she had been here before- in the hold of Rick-made bliss. She could see herself right here, 40 years from now and the intensity of her heart speeding through time snatch an orgasm from her core unexpectedly. A sandpaper scream rose from her dry vocal chords as she pulsed around his length, pulling him along, past his boiling point. He spilled his seed hot inside her and the tingle of his cum splashing her walls sent her further down the rabbit hole of kaleidoscopic colors.

 **Come on, come on, come on**

 **Before the moment's gone**

 **Number one party anthem**

...

Rick sat on the wide edge of their bath, in his red boxer briefs. A jetted tub big enough for two was nearly at the top of the must-haves list for their next home. Only his feet soaked, to just below his knees, under the gentle lapping of water. But Rick was currently content to watch Michonne enjoy the glittering orange and cream-swirls around her. The wedding gift of a grapefruit tangerine bath bomb from Nibila, enhanced the lulling mood. Her childhood friend was happy to fly in from Paris to watch her become Mrs. Grimes and she brought with her enough fizzy foamy balls of calming aromatherapy to last until the round-bellied bride gave birth.

The room was steamy and quiet except for the echoing of their lazy conversation off the tall tiled walls. Rick held Michonne's dainty right foot, up out of the water, in his enveloping hand. Her toenails matched her oatmeal-polished fingernails and her husband couldn't stop kissing the top of every toe as she sat, soaking in the tub, opposite of him. Smiling, she rested her head on her plush bath pillow, eyes closed and sated after their love-making rocked Rick's truck like a cradle.

Michonne fired Rick from his short-lived job as her masseuse early on in their relationship. She wasn't used to his barbaric tactility. Flashforward months later, she craved his heavy-duty rubdowns, especially now that she was pregnant. After putting pedal to metal for hours in her mad dash to reach him, the foot massage she was enjoying felt almost like foreplay. She looked at him suspiciously across the bubbly surface of their bath wondering if it was.

"Whose idea was it for Carl to stay with Shane and Andrea?"

"His… the kid knows when to make himself scarce around here." Michonne giggled at their high school behavior's effect on their actual high schooler.

Rick grinned too. "What'd he say?"

"Nothing, really." She thought back to when she dropped him and Shane off. "When he got out, he just said, Love you, mom. Have fun."

"That's my boy."

"He's literally the sweetest kid I know. He's not mine, but damned if I don't love him like I love these babies." She said rubbing her belly under the white foam floating around her.

"He loves you, too. He says it enough." Rick chuckled continuing to knead the sole of her foot. "It's been forever since I've heard him say that to Lori. I think he wants a DNA test."

Their laughter at the thought of Rick's illogical comment echoed off the high walls of their bathroom. But the humor of his joke faded and Michonne's laughter turned to a nervous smile as her husband's words gave her the perfect opportunity to broach the uncertain subject of his own parentage.

After they dropped off Florence, she and Shane spoke in hushed tones in the front seat, so Carl wouldn't overhear (while Carl sat in the third-row bench seats whispering to Enid with the same top-secret protocol). Shane explained the brief conversation he had with Rick's mom. He told Michonne that Florence said she knew his mother. At the time of his conversation with the older woman Shane hadn't been cognizant of her jittery behavior at the mention of the Walsh sisters, but looking back with this new information, he wondered why the talkative woman became so quiet.

Brother and sister rearranged all the pieces of the puzzle. The timelines, the genealogy, the gossip he remembered hearing with his young inexperienced ears. Shane didn't remember much about his mother's sisters, so they googled Shane's aunt Marilyn Walsh. She died before the internet blew up, so they didn't find much. But when they googled Lyndi Walsh, they found a short Wikipedia page.

Shane read the condensed biography of the relative he barely knew to his sister as they pushed down the highway under a sky blanketed in gray. Lyndi Walsh was described as an American singer/songwriter with one notable hit record as the lead singer of the bluegrass band "Blue Ridge Journeys". As soon as Shane read the name of the band Michonne recognized it.

She had only downloaded the album. She never looked into the members of the group. Rick had told her that his father was in the band. But according to Rick the band had an irreparable split, so she was never interested in knowing about anyone other than Everett Grimes and she had his son to tell her everything she wanted to know about the man who would've been her father-in-law… or so she thought. But she felt like she was being pulled from the outer rings of a whirlpool to the centered abyss and she had no idea what awaited her and her family at the bottom.

As far as she and her brother could decipher, if the widow Grimes wasn't Rick's mother, the most plausible candidate was Shane's Aunt Lyndi. Rick had told Michonne before that he believed his father had an affair with the band's lead singer. He had tried to find her after his father died, but when he found out the woman died decades before, he figured he'd let them both rest in peace with their secrets. That was one of the reasons Michonne wasn't sure if she should bring it up again. Her husband had made his peace and she never wanted to be the source of his stress.

Shane related his mother's account of what happened to her sister. He was just a kid when she told him the story, so she left out crucial details that he wished he knew now. He didn't know how she died or precisely when. He only knew it was years before he was born.

When the switch was flipped in his mind to the idea that if Rick was indeed his Aunt Lyndi's son, that would make the two of them first cousins, it shut Shane up for a good half hour of their ride. He purposely never sought out any of his blood relatives once his mother died. He could never forgive them for turning their backs on her. And now after making his own family, the sister he chose to keep forever had inadvertently brought his blood back into his life- in the form of a good man who had found a way to be his friend. Shane felt, like never before, that this was a renaissance in the making for a bunch of kids that nobody wanted.

Michonne glanced at him sitting next to her with a satisfied grin and she couldn't help but grin too, reading his mind. If it was true, if her two favorite men were really related, she would never let either of them hear the end of it after all the irritating antics they'd put her through when they were less cordial to each other.

The Wikipedia page for his Aunt Lyndi had been edited last by someone with the username: NotesofBlue. There was no way to contact the person directly and they couldn't find him or her anywhere else on any social media. But Michonne couldn't shake the feeling that this person had the answer they needed or at least, knew where to find them.

"What about you?" Michonne pushed herself to begin a tentative approach of the subject scratching again at her brain.

"What about me, what?" Rick returned her question for clarification.

"You ever wish you had another mother?"

Rick pursed his lips to think. Then he licked his lips when he found an answer close enough to the truth of how he felt. "What's the point in wishin'? Florence ain't never qualified for mom of the year. But she had a husband who suffered from depression and two wild boys to tame... You know she lost a baby girl?"

"Oh, no! What baby?"

"My father told me my mother was pregnant at fifteen by some jerk from another town. But the baby was stillborn."

Michonne gasped at the rush of sadness that hit her heart and ejected any thought of a similar fate for the little boy and little girl she'd become so fond of. "God. That's terrible, Rick. When did that happen?"

"I don't know. She don't talk about her past. She won't. I think she had a hard life. But I don't ever bring it up. My father used to tell me thangs sometimes, here and there over a scotch when I got older… I guess my life would've been a lot different if I had another mother, but I didn't. The mother life gave me put me on the path for the security field after I got kicked out of police academy. I mean, she gave me hell for breaking my superior officer's jaw, but she didn't give up on me. And this job is how I found you." He smiled sweetly, leaning forward again to rub the tip of his nose across the smooth ball of her foot. He gazed into her inquisitive brown eyes his lips pulling into a playful smirk, "So, thanks, mom."

"Yeah, you're right, boo. Thanks Flo!" Michonne giggled, then refocused. "Tell me more about that band your dad was in. You never met anyone who was in it?"

"No. Mom hated all those guys."

"Maybe the band could tell you stuff your dad left out or things your mom won't say."

"Maybe." Rick shrugged, agreeing flippantly.

"From the little you've told me, seems like your dad was happy until the band fell apart. I'm curious about his life with the band and what happened with all that."

"You and my mom, both. You askin' for her?" He wondered and teased, "Since y'all are 'besties' now."

"I don't know about besties."

"C'mon." Rick put a little pressure on her calf. "She's callin' you 'dear' and buying the babies stuff…"

When they stopped at the little strip mall on the way to her house, Florence, along with Shane and Carl, took a moment to peruse a baby boutique. When Michonne ended her call in the truck with Rick, she went to go find her trio of travelling companions, so she could get back to the urgent task of getting back to Rick. She had finally found them coming out of the specialty shop and her mother-in-law presented her with a gift bag containing two outrageously cute stuffed animals. One, a round eyed penguin, the other a chubby smiling panda. Michonne had explained to her mother-in-law how she planned to decorate the nursery in black and white, so the gift was generous and thoughtful.

"No. I haven't talked to Flo about it." Michonne said honestly. "Me and Bubba googled the band and we just got curious. You know he loves stories. People's lives fascinate him… you know how writers are." She covered. "If we gave you a username we found online, you think you could give it to Eugene and see what he could dig up?"

Rick just chuckled, completely oblivious of her ultimate intent. He shook his head at how nosey she and Shane could be when they got together. But he gave his usual reply, "Whatever you want, baby."

Rick was just about to ask how Shane's book was coming when his phone rang with a standard ringtone from the bedroom. He pulled his feet out of the water and made his way to see who it was. There were only a few calls important enough to interrupt the time he was spending with his wife. It just so happened, Jessie Anderson was one of those calls and her name glowed on the screen as he swiped to answer. He prayed that she had a promising lead.

"Hello." Rick put the call on speaker and walked back into the bathroom.

"Hi, Rick. Sorry to call so late. I tried Michonne but kept getting her voicemail."

"She's here. She can hear you."

"Hi, Jessie." Michonne said, realizing with irritation that she'd left her phone in the car. "What's up?"

"What's the earliest you two can do a viewing?"

"Tomorrow." Michonne said eagerly.

"Besides tomorrow. The seller won't show on Sundays. But it has to be next week because the seller will be out of the country after that and I really want to get the ball rolling before then. Now, this is going to be a somewhat unconventional property, but I really think you can get everything you're asking for if you keep an open mind, Michonne."

"Jessie, I get excited when I hear 'get everything you're asking for'." Michonne smiled. "But then the 'keep an open mind' part worries me."

"I need you to trust me, Michonne. I'm trying to get the Grimes family settled before it's too late. You guys are running out of time. As a mother, believe me when I tell you: There's nothing more stressful than moving, except, I can only imagine, moving with a set of newborn twins."

"Well, what's the address? I'll google it and check out the…"

"No, Michonne." Jessie interrupted her client's bargaining with a wry chuckle. "No. All I need from you is a date and time. I give you the address the day of."

The last thing Jessie needed was Michonne googling.

All clients were worrisome, but she'd never had a client like Michonne. A client who would say no to a home because google maps showed a man in a flowy white robe walking down the block. Jessie and Rick, both, tried to convince Michonne that the man could have been a priest at the church visible on the street corner or, at the very least, the man may have been in the choir. And while Michonne agreed that those were _possibilities_ , she maintained that there was also the chance that the picture showed a proud, hoodless member of the Klu Klux Klan on his way to a Trump rally.

Jessie had laughed in the moment until she saw Michonne's face held no humor whatsoever. The dark-skinned woman who was, at the time, engaged to a white man and carrying biracial babies told her realtor that she couldn't risk the jail time.

That night Jessie went home and instead of her usual glass of Zinfandel, she poured herself a whiskey double… and then had her glass of wine… and then offed the whole bottle.

Michonne's mouth fell open in shock at the effrontery of Jessie's stern reply. She looked to Rick for back up and found him casually leaned up against the sink, arms crossed, holding his phone out as he chuckled to himself at the ladies' exchange.

"Well, Monday's out. We gotta OB appointment." Rick said flatly, ignoring Michonne's evil eye for allowing the blonde to speak so sharply to her. In reality, Michonne knew she was driving Jessie insane. It wasn't her intention, but she wanted what she wanted, and Jessie assured her she'd make things happen. The picky house hunter excused her demanding behavior by reminding herself how big Jessie's commission check would be.

How Rick was cool with the salty sass coming through his cell phone's speakers was beyond her. She was in the middle of sucking her teeth and an exaggerated roll of her eyes when she remembered with a splash, "Oh! I forgot to tell you. On Tuesday, you have to come with me to interview this guy I'm thinking about hiring as my assistant. Don't forget." Michonne informed her husband as she slid her lathered loofah up her arm.

"Another assistant? What about Roe?"

"Roe said she was stepping back a little now that I'm a married woman. She said assisting me was your permanent job now."

"It is." he confirmed. "So why are you hiring an assistant?"

"For work Rick. The position is actually an audition for Junior Designer. I would totally hire Roe on the spot, but she doesn't have any experience with swatches. And I don't want YES M.A.M. to be unproductive while I'm on maternity leave."

Rick understood what she was saying. Still he opened his mouth to complain about her hi-jacking his schedule. Until he processed what she was saying, then the more pressing question in his mind became,

"Why do I need to be there for when you interview an assistant?"

"In case I don't like him, I can let him down easy and say, 'my husband is crazy jealous, and he doesn't want me working with such a hot guy'. See? That way even though I'm not hiring him, he won't feel like shit." Michonne explained, impressed with her plan.

Rick just stared at his wife. He had plans with the guys to go shooting at the range, but it wouldn't be too hard to do both. It might prove to be too hard for him to endure his wife telling another man how hot he is… but he loved to be needed by her, so he'd be there.

Jessie cleared her voice on the line, feeling forgotten as she listened to her clients go back and forth about their plans. She rolled her eyes at how cute Rick and Michonne were together and pressed them for a day and time, "Come on, guys. I gotta get back to the excitement of typing up these open house flyers.

Michonne realized then, that since she'd neglected to tell him, this was short notice and he may be busy that day. She looked up at him with her innocent brown sugar eyes. "Sorry, is that gonna work for you, babe?"

"Whatever you want." He gave in, his wooden expression hiding his pleasure to give her anything she wanted. She mouthed a thank you to him and blew him a kiss from her naughty lips. "I think we can do Wednesday, Jessie." Rick replied to his realtor and raised a questioning brow to his wife. "Say 'round four?

Agreeing with a shrug, Michonne pointed to her towel and Rick dropped his cell on the sink to help her out the tub. He circled her body with the cozy cotton loops of her soft large towel draped over his strong arms to steady her as she took one step, then another onto the lush long piles of her ivory bath rug.

"Okay. Thanks guys. You two have a good night. And Michonne don't worry," Jessie said, "I can pull this off for you." They returned her goodnight and Rick ended the call.

He took a seat on the edge of the tub again as the water circled the drain behind them. Pulling his lady into his lap, he hugged her up, tight against his chest and rested his fuzzy chin on her damp shoulder as she squirmed in mock resistance.

"Why'd you let 'Miss Open House' tell me no?" Michonne whined, putting on a front of betrayal so Rick would hold her closer and whisper something sexy and sweet in a needless apology.

"Somebody has to tell you no sometimes, baby… you know I can't do it." He rasped against her ear and the smile she was holding hostage on her lips escaped as Rick rubbed her body dry. "Jessie is the expert here, so let's just follow her lead…" he kissed her neck, "work with her, okay?" He planted another kiss closer to her ear, "Steak and Relish gotta live somewhere... only place for them here is the closet under the stairs…" Rick joked, "I know you can set up a space but, come on…" He kissed her cheek, making a trail with his lips and she turned to meet them with a giggle on her own.

"No." She shook her head, pressing her mouth to his, "My babies are not living in no closet."

"I know. We made all'a this forever together…" he smoothed his hands in circles over the babies brewing in her womb, "we gotta have somewhere to put it, right?" Michonne nodded reaching up to play in his chin hair, touching her forehead to his. "So, even though I already know the answer to this… I'm still gonna ask… When we go see this property with Jessie," He gave her one more kiss on her pillowy pout and sighed on a growl, "you gonna be good?"

* * *

 **A/N: I'm back to the Arctic Monkeys with the songs in this chapter because my obsession has not gotten any better.**

 **Album: AM**

 **Songs: Do I Wanna Know, R U Mine, No. 1 Party Anthem**

 **(Obviously, I don't own any of these songs.)**

 **Oh, and don't worry. I'm not withholding wedding night sex from you guys. It'll be a flashback in an upcoming chapter. Thanks for your reviews, PMs and patience. You guys make me so happy… 😊**

 **~ comewithnattah**


	38. Chapter 38

A/N: Hello folks. It's been a regretfully long time since I've updated this story. I'm sorry I've been such a bad girl. I promise I had a legit reason for the delay.

Thanks to everyone who checked on me. And special thanks to the whole line up of awesome writers who kept me encouraged through a difficult time. From the Talented Tigers, Cream-faced Kitties, Angry Pandas and Beautiful Butterflies to my Egyptian Goddess, my Fairy Blog Mother and my Long-legged French Kid... and yes, even that Big Booty'd Hoe. To mention you all would take a whole other chapter and since it nearly killed me to write the ones I did, I'm just gonna say: YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE, YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID and YOU ROCK!

Yeehaw, if you're still interested in what's going on here. I had meant to purge all my completed chapters at the same time, but I'm trying to decide on how best to organize them. So, while I figure that out, here's the first of a few chapters that I've completed. We're going to get back to their house hunt and shed some light on Rick's parentage. But before we get to all of that, we run into an old pal.

-Nattah

* * *

Michonne looked at Mike from her spot behind Maggie at the altar. There he sat in the fourth pew back, handsome as ever in the stately black of his tailored suit. His haircut was fresh as always, low, slender sideburns, neck tapered. A bright orange tie and black and white polka dotted pocket square were positioned perfectly against his lean chest as he smiled up at her from the audience of onlookers. She returned his smile, showing no teeth as she tried to solidify in her mind the idea that the good time she was having with him made more sense than what Glenn and Maggie were doing right now.

Mike was happy for an occasion to parade around in his finest with his Versace twin, a nickname Terry decided on for Michonne and their wannabe male model. Mike was there but he paid no respect to the sanctity of the vows about to be exchanged. He dropped his eyes to check an incoming text message and laughed a little more openly than Michonne thought appropriate. But she never expected her dark chocolate date to do more than show up and be pretty, as he'd made enough unfunny wisecracks about the wedding for the past few days to let her know how flippantly he viewed it.

Michonne stood in cascading canary yellow with the perfect view of Glenn's face as she turned her attention back to the ceremony. Maybe it was her imagination, but he seemed to be glowing from the spotlight of a single sunray being cast upon him through the arched window in the heights of the chapel's frame. Her heart clamored, begging her to find what Glenn Rhee was offering her sweet deserving friend.

Passionate was not a word she would use to describe the young man. Tenderhearted, like his bride, smart, easy-going, babyish- maybe. But not passionate. For the many months it took to plan the grand special occasion, Michonne had to bite her tongue to keep her reservations about her good girlfriend marrying a guy that, to her, seemed so forgettable. She never could bring herself to say that to Maggie, who was so happy- so in love. She was glad she'd refrained when, one night, her drunken Care Bear gave Michonne a glimpse at the iceberg's base of her love for her fiancé.

"Glenn wrote me a letter, girls." The brunette slurred as her two best friends undressed her after taking her out for a good time. It was the anniversary of Mrs. Magnolia Greene's death. And Michonne and Andrea could see that their friend was feeling more affected than usual by the world-wrecking loss of her mother and namesake.

Miss Nola used to relish their pretend adolescent backyard weddings as much as they did, helping the three fairy-tale dreamers apply makeup and arrange wildflower bouquets. Maggie always thought her mom would be there with her when she found the man of her dreams. She always imagined her mother would pull the lace veil over her tear streaked face moments before she walked the aisle. The best and kindest of them was still trying to get used to the reality that her mom wouldn't toast to her marriage and offer all those charming Dixieland platitudes. Things didn't work out that way and the bride-to-be crumbled now and again whenever she thought of taking the biggest step of her life without the loving woman she admired all her life.

"He did?" Andrea engaged her about the news of a love letter just for the fun of it. "Did you have to check any boxes to tell him you like him?" she said making fun of Glenn's juvenile persona as she pulled off Maggie's shoes and pitched them to join the pile in the closet.

Michonne rolled her eyes at Andrea's version of wit and stifled a laugh thinking, _Funny cuz true._

But the humor was lost on Glenn's impaired wife-to-be. Maggie drawled through her intoxication "I didn't check any boxes… not that I remember." She paused looking up at her handlers as they laid her on her bed. "What boxes?" she asked confused.

"No boxes. Don't worry. Blondie is just being Blondie. What did Glenn write in the letter, Care Bear?"

"It's in my jewelry box." Maggie pointed as she planted her head in her pillow to make the room stop spinning. "Read it to me."

Andrea hopped off the bed in excitement, still tipsy herself and ready to get a good laugh at Glenn's expense. She could only imagine the sophomoric dribble Maggie's gamer dude had penned. In her comparison, he certainly wasn't capable of the kind of mind-melting, panty-dropping compositions that Shane would send her from the penitentiary. She found the handwritten letter among Maggie's many charms, some expensive, some inherited, all very precious to their friend, just like Glenn.

Andrea stood in front of Maggie's dresser and cleared her throat dramatically. "Ahem.

 **To Magnolia, my endless love. My gift born of stardust.**

 **What a spell you've weaved for me. A golden haze of horizons on eternity's endless march. You carry the Northern lights in your eyes and the blazing fire of the sunrise in your kiss."**

Fortunate for the retrogamer, his girlfriend, nor her friends, were interested in video games. And even die-hards at his job were not as versed in the world of RPGs, PVPs and RTSs as Glenn. So, as Andrea read, the three had no idea that he had pilfered those poetic words from a cut scene of his favorite old school game, Magnar's Odyssey. The journey of a troll in love with a faerie and his epic adventure to save her from a demon lord was, oddly enough, Glenn's barometer for romance and love. The wicked blonde would have gotten her laugh if she'd been privy to the letter's origins in geekdom. But in her ignorance, her voice softened as she read Glenn's scribbled words,

" **I know I am young and you deserve more than I can give you. Maybe that should discourage me, but it doesn't. I know I'm just a guy. A guy who managed to pull an angel from heaven. There isn't a man on the planet who could give you everything you deserve. There isn't a man on earth who could love you more than I do either."**

Andrea found a new respect for Maggie's young boyfriend that night and Michonne gave her silent, but ultimately, unnecessary consent for Miss Feathers and Fireflies to become Mrs. Rhee.

As Maggie said the words that would join them forever, Michonne could see the pools of tears glistening Glenn's eyes and swirling with the utter disbelief that Maggie was his. Passion. It came in all forms and flavors, she realized, even quiet, lanky, Korean video game geek.

Remembering that moment, she looked back at her ill-mannered date for the wedding, who was rudely exiting the big white chapel doors doing a terrible job of being inconspicuous. He consciously gave the entire congregation a good look at him being the cheesy trope of the well-paid soap opera big shot, whispering into his favorite gadget as he went.

That moment seemed to flawlessly cut to the present day, when Michonne- wrapped up in Rick's stalwart arms- opened her eyes and saw Mike pushing through the large white hospital doors.

She couldn't help but compare the sight of him walking away from the sanctity of one of her dearest friend's wedding. And now, like that day, he made long strides with his lanky arm bent and raised, keeping his precious phone at his ear. It also reminded her of the last time she saw him. When he had been introduced to Rick's Mr. Hyde. That day, too, his silhouette was similar. His elbow was lifted at an angle as he tried to stop the bleeding of his expertly fractured face, courtesy of the man devouring her now.

Rick's grinning face was buried in her neck as he leaned over her with his palms full of her plump ass, his knuckles being scraped by the brick behind her. Her smart mouth had her in trouble again and she was paying for her sarcasm willingly as her husband nipped and nibbled roughly at the skin under her ear.

The drunken smile Rick was putting on her rounded face faltered briefly as her eyes met her ex's. Mike looked at her with a mix of recognition and trepidation on his face as he ended his work-related call and put his phone in his pocket.

Rick felt Michonne's mood change instantly and he raised his head to investigate. He followed her gaze to Mike's direction and scowled, doubly upset. Chafing at the loss of privacy they were enjoying in the vacant corridor and aggrieved by the sight of the character approaching, Rick felt his composure erode as his hold on his woman loosened.

The man interrupting his playtime wasn't making eye contact with him or Michonne. He trained his eyes upward, on the number display of the elevator before them. His expensive cologne permeated the wide space and Michonne rolled her eyes as her nostrils burned from the fragrance she used to inhale so greedily.

Frigid blue eyes looked the attorney up and down. After a few seconds of reading Mike's body language for any signs of aggression, Rick resumed his dalliance at the morsel of her sweet little earlobe. The taste of honey lavender on his tongue sucked him back in and he decided that he had expended every fuck he could give about the presence of such a well-dressed loser.

"You wanna give 'em the live version of the show Lori got?" Rick asked mischievously, his voice like a feather against her eardrum as his perfect set of pearly whites connected and snapped down the quickening throb of her pulse.

She sank back, eyes closed, into his embrace with a squealing giggle. "You're a whole mess. You know that?" His answer came in the form of a shallow slip of his tongue past her lips that wasted no time evolving into a much heavier kiss.

"What'd you expect? You married a psycho ass white boy." Rick repeated one of Mike's attempts to insult him. At the time, still charged from all the make-up sex that was three weeks in the making, the white boy had embraced the label wholeheartedly. He had never been more certifiable than he was over her love. The one man crazy enough to try and get in the way of what Rick was feeling paid the price with a check his ass couldn't cash.

That man stood just a few feet away, unable to hear what they were saying. All he could hear were Michonne's delighted giggles and her greedy groper's insistent breaths. Mr. Solomon had never felt more ignored and to him that was a blow worse than any Rick had ever landed to his body or face. He tried to be equally dismissive of their unabashed public displays and keep his mind on the questions he was there to ask an injured client. However, before he could feel his body shift he was drawn in their direction, his face etched in envy as he stared.

Pulling away from his wife for a moment to check his watch, Rick noticed Mike's gaze. He returned his scrutiny boldly for a moment until he realized her ex's eyes were glued to her perfectly rounded behind.

Rick cocked his head, effectively riled. "You gotta problem with your eyes?" he asked leaning forward to Mike's direction, still maintaining his protective stance in front of his lady.

Mike seemed to be in a stupor, dead silent with his eyes glued. He was lost in his thoughts, demolished by what he was witnessing. What could Rick have that he didn't? How did a hillbilly like him manage to snatch her away… make demands and keep her… take a stand and grow her? He didn't think it would've been possible. He didn't think he cared, until now, seeing her melting in his rough rugged hands.

Rick felt a flash of anger and Michonne tightened her hold on his pronounced bicep she'd been caressing. "Rick…" she summoned his attention back to her but only for a second. Her beefy white knight stood taller in front of his wife bringing the hand that cupped the soft meat above her thigh up to her hip. He noticed Mike followed the movement with his eyes. Rick peeked to where his hand rested and noticed what had Mike so dumbstruck: The band that adorned his ring finger.

Suddenly his anger was muted, and a smug triumphant smile eased over the fire of his features. He spun the white gold ring around his finger with his thumb. From Mike's vacant expression, Rick imagined if her ex ever saw the inscription snug between his knuckles, he'd need the ER for sure.

"Mike? Are you okay?" Michonne's voice finally raised Mike to attention.

"You married him?!"

"Yes." she craned her neck emphasizing her answer. "I love him." Michonne testified, surprised by his surprise. She had told him that she loved Rick… a bunch of times. Nearly every time they spoke, somehow the conversation would gravitate to all the ways her cowboy was unrivaled in his claim on her heart, despite their tumultuous split. Her hand went up, giving him a good look at the outward symbol of their fidelity and love.

No one had told him this news. As much as he liked to play a big man most of his friends knew he was sensitive and feather soft. That's why he could never handle Michonne in the first place. Trying to keep up appearances, he always gave the impression that he didn't care about whatever she was doing and Terry, as a mutual friend, was happy not to bring it up. Mike's rants about how she would eventually come back wanting the comfort of some undefinable endowment that only the black man possessed were getting old and being proved untrue as far as his best friend could see.

As soon as the declaration left her lips, the elevator bell pinged, a computerized female voice announced its upward direction and the doors slid apart. Rick stepped out of Michonne's space to hold the sensored door for her and Mike saw her spreading midsection that had been concealed under her husband's intimate stance.

Mike's eyes tripled in size as his brain scrambled at the sight. Without thinking, his attitude went to his default setting: Douche. He placed his hand on her arm as she went to follow her husband pausing her footsteps abruptly. "What the fuck is this Mi-?"

Rick's hand was at his throat before he could finish uttering the two syllables of her nickname, nearly lifting Mr. Solomon off his Maison Margiela soles. Propelled back by the sudden force of Rick's extended arm, Mike's Burberry trench coat did little to cushion the impact.

"Don't fuckin' touch my wife!" Rick's warning started out with a cannon's boom but ended up being pushed through clenched teeth. A whisper like the quiet, targeted strike of an arrow. "You don't deserve to breathe her air."

Michonne's jaw dropped and a stifled gasp nearly propelled her forward to intervene. But she knew her husband. He was in control. Whatever happened to Mike right now would be justified and measured. She trusted him enough to relax after the swiftness of his movements gave her that initial jolt. She almost giggled at the scene before her as the elevator closed behind her with another ding from the empty car.

.

"My bad. My bad. My bad!" croaked the fool in a death grip. He held his hands up in surrender, smart enough not to attempt a countermove. Rick let him go with a final forceful thrust against the hard brick wall and Michonne pressed the up button once more, assuming the excitement was over. Learning more quickly than he ever had in life, Mike addressed the alpha in his presence with a decidedly gentler tone. "Sorry… I was …" He rubbed a trembling hand over the acute pain in his larynx. "I was just… I can't believe… she…"

Mike shook his head stunned and discombobulated. Michonne never wanted kids. They'd talked about it. He was climbing in his field and she was happy being Aunt Mimi to Sasha's boys. That's what she told him a year ago. Now she was standing there in front of him with what looked like a one year old in her belly. Baffled beyond words, the dark-skinned litigator pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to make some sense of it all.

"Yeah, well, I hope you can believe it." Rick said still standing threateningly close. He wound his finger in a circle near Mike's temple. "Wrap your mind around it." Michonne's ex was disheveled all about his neck, his collar and tie in a jumble. "Commit all'a this to memory." Rick kept his fierce blues on the man before him while Mike could not take his eyes off Michonne, who stood with her arms folded across her chest and the stale look of dispassion on her face. "This is my wife... Those are my babies… And this is my gun." Rick whispered, but it felt like a roar vibrating Mike's chest when the man with the wedding ring tapped the glock in his shoulder harness. He'd rushed from work to this OB appointment and remnants of his occupational mindset flared. "I'm pretty much a caveman when it comes to her now. Runnin' on instinct and savagery…"

The armed family man was interrupted and slightly taken aback when Mike released a sudden torrent of tears right there in front of them both. The initial shrill of his whimper furrowed Rick's brow for a split second. Towering close to Mike, Rick looked back to Michonne, who had a better view of her ex. The crease in her brow confirmed that the perpetual shit-talker and show boater was indeed openly crying like a baby. Wiping the moisture from his eyes with the back of his hand, his voice quaked when he spoke. "Damn, Mimi. You really doing the most…" his mouth felt dry and hot "...with him, huh?"

"Yes. I'm doing all of it, Mike." Michonne said with a scornful delivery that made it clear she was unmoved by the sobbing spectacle. "I'm doing all of it with him and only him… forever. I've told you this before."

"Okay." Mike said on a weak sniffle. He looked at Rick then again at Michonne. The lump in his throat choked him and the tears making their way down his cheeks seemed to sizzle his skin. "Okay, Mimi. I hope…" He pushed himself to say it. He meant it deep down but saying it was the hard part; admitting defeat. "I hope you're happy, Mimi. If this is what you want. I hope you're happy. I'm sorry for that bullshit I said to you at your place… I was hurt…" he said hoping for a little absolution.

"I understand. You said everything you could think of that would crush me." Michonne nodded. "You were hurt so you wanted to hurt me."

"It was petty. I know. I regret it so..."

"Kinda like he was hurt," She interrupted his coming monologue and gestured to Rick, standing between the former lovers like a sentinel. "I hurt him too... in the middle of a full restaurant. He could've said all the hurtful things you said. But that's not how a man does things. You see that, right? The difference between you two? Why I'm his wife and nothing to you?

The elevator came back from a much shorter trip, the disembodied female voice announced again it would carry the occupants to another level like the ascension the Grimes experienced with each new day of their life together. The doors opened, and a few people got off crowding the space. Rick stepped around the people exiting the car and curled his arm around his woman's waist. The newlyweds stepped into the elevator and Michonne leaned against the far wall of the carriage while Rick pushed the button for their desired floor, then resumed his position by her side.

Mike's eyes were zoomed in on Michonne. To her surprise he looked like he actually needed her to spell it out for him. It still escaped him how Rick could be his better. A part of her thought she should just leave him to his ignorance and save her breath. She looked down between her rounded form and her husband's squared frame. Their fingers intertwined, he rubbed the back of her thumb like it would literally kill him to be that close to her and not caress her. She wasn't feeling very sexy nowadays but damn, if she didn't feel loved and wanted.

Passion. It even came in elevator hand holds. Rick had more passion in one opposable digit than an army of Mikes.

She decided, even if her ex never got it and her husband already knew it, she'd state it for the record. She'd say it and relish the fluttering feeling inside her. A feeling that had nothing to do with the stretching, kicking twins she was carrying. The greatest waste of her time looked on, stewing in his castrating regret. Michonne dismissed the sight of Mike lifting her loving eyes to the tensed profile of her most fierce protector still on sentry. She smiled at his resolve, which was in a way simultaneously adorably precious and hair-raisingly sinister. She reached up to tuck a fallen curl back into his ocean of shiny lush waves. The strands filling her fingers like heavy silk.

Her touch brought his attention down to her cocoa gaze. His attentiveness present in the slight climb of his brow. The elevator chimed and the gunmetal doors began their gradual glide to meet and close the scene. Mike could just make out her words when she answered the question he was too cowardly to ask. She spoke the reason to Rick's descending lips.

"This is a man."


	39. Chapter 39

"No, Jessie. It's not far. But when you said 'around the corner' you failed to mention that this place was 83 million miles above sea level." Michonne exaggerated, huffing out her complaint to Jessie's cellular presence. She dramatically dropped her head back between her shoulder blades to catch her breath. "I'm ready to pass out."

"But, why are you walking?" Jessie countered, kicking away the blame her spoiled rotten client was laying at her feet.

"Because I have a white son, Jessie!" Michonne squibbed the blonde on the phone and boy at her side, who was pretending to ignore the conversation. "And your people are obsessed with hiking for some reason!"

"It's a nice day and you need the exercise." Carl mumbled playfully.

Michonne stopped mid-stride and gave him the evil eye over an escaping grin, "How 'bout I exercise my rights to give you the Black Mom Experience in the middle of a city sidewalk?"

"If you can catch me." He said and took off on a sprint past the tired pedestrians herding by, knowing the former cartwheeler and handstander could scarcely power walk.

"We're almost there." She advised Jessie with a winded breath and ended the call. Carl only went a few storefronts ahead before he came jogging back to her side, sporting a teasing grin. Michonne responded with an unbothered, lifted brow and asked Carl in a sarcastically sour tone, "You having a good time?"

He only laughed. "What'd Mrs. Anderson say?"

"Nothing. Your dad just got there. I told her we're just down the street. But first, we need snacks for this trek." she detoured, heading for the closest establishment that sold anything edible.

"Mom…" Carl held the door and followed her into the hole-in-the-wall convenience store. "We're almost there. You really gonna buy food?"

She grabbed a bottle of papaya juice from the sliding glass door of the commercial refrigerator and held it to her chest with a jar of cheese dip. Snatching up a bag of tortilla chips, she employed her side eye. "I have to eat for the strength to carry these two babies hiking through my uterus, Carl. So, yes, I'm getting more food… and I'm not buying it, you are." Michonne said flatly and dropped the items on the cashier's counter.

Carl had begun accompanying his dad to low risk weekend events. He'd sit at the scanner and help Sasha with wanding the city's upper crust while she cursed them under her breath for holding up the line by not removing all their watches and jewelry. Sometimes he monitored the parking lots full of expensive cars with Merle and the crass country boy would tell him all about which cars were for guys who were "bald pussy bitches" and which ones were for studs who gave "bald pussies stitches". Carl knew his daddy wouldn't agree with Merle's philosophies but still, he couldn't help but laugh when guys started driving off in the "bitch cars" and every one of them looked exactly how Daryl's big brother had described. The teenager also shadowed Abe, whose conversation was the right balance of entertaining and just slightly inappropriate. Carl got a little money from his dad for helping out so he could learn to budget and save up, things Rick insisted a man should know… especially now that his son had a girlfriend.

Michonne looked back at a display of individually wrapped cakes and doughnuts. "And grab me a honey bun, too. Please."

"You got honey bun money?" He quirked a smart alec brow and challenged her with the familiar comeback of every black mom.

"Boy, if you don't get me two honey buns."

"Two?!" Carl repeated with mock disbelief. "You gotta put something else back then." he joked. "I only budget five dollars a week for your snacks."

Back on the street, Michonne handed the jar of cheese to Carl while she opened the chips. "Look, you know Jessie be tripping sometimes with these listings and your daddy is tired of this house hunt." She said accepting the now opened jar from his hand and passed him the chip bag to share. "I need you to be on my side if this showing goes left." She declared through the triangular crunch in her mouth, raising a conspiratorial brow.

Carl nearly spit crumbs in laughter at her sinister and unnecessary attempt to overthrow power of the house hunt. "Mom, I'm always on your side…" he smiled. "So is dad and I'm pretty sure Mrs. Anderson is too. I remember when Lori was moving out of my dad's house, we looked at so many houses. Dad said he'd buy whatever we wanted but he wasn't giving up that first house because granddad helped him buy it. Now that I'm older, I know she just didn't want to admit it was over between them, so we looked at houses for more than a year. Mrs. Anderson is so good, she finally found a house for us that Lori couldn't say no to, even though she didn't want to move out in the first place. So, don't worry." Carl said in reassurance as he strolled along for the sake of Michonne's stamina. "Dad was tired of _that_ house hunt because he was tired of _her_. He didn't love her anymore."

"You know," Michonne paused her feet and swallowed her current munch as she moved out the sidewalk's stream to an alcoved storefront. She told him over the ambient street noise, "You know it wouldn't hurt me if _you_ still did."

"Still what?"

"If you still loved your mom, Carl. I get that you're upset with her, but she'll come back eventually. I don't want you thinking loving her is being disloyal to me or that just because your dad doesn't love her anymore, you shouldn't either."

Carl's sights were set on some random point across the lineup of traffic. Michonne assumed she was reaching him and convincing him to show his mother some mercy. He smiled and shook his head in disbelief. "See. See that right there." he said sounding a lot like his father and he turned to meet Michonne's caring brown eyes.

"What right where?"

"That. What you just said."

"I mean it."

"I know you do. You know what Lori told me at Thanksgiving? She told me I had to choose." He looked at his shoes ashamed of his choice months ago. "She said I had to choose either her or you. She said if I left her that day to go be with you, I didn't really love her." Carl said taking in the concerned crease between her brows. Michonne didn't like what she was hearing at all but he could see she was biting her tongue. "And see," he said happily, "you're telling me the opposite. I thought about loyalty a lot that day. She wasn't loyal to me when she hid my phone. She tries to keep me away from you and I let her do it that day. She wasn't loyal to Shane… and by the end of that night I was done with her, like dad's been for a long time. Now she's gone with Negan. She made her choice. It's the same choice she always makes. She always chooses Lori. I really don't miss her."

"Carl, she's your mother. You can't just-"

"Maybe you feel like that because you never really had a mom. Trust me. Some moms suck. We all gotta make choices. In my heart, I chose you before she chose Negan and I'm honestly cool with it. Dad always says Lori'll make you tired and I was. Trying to keep you a secret from her all summer. She drove me crazy for information when dad moved out of his house. He always said he never would and she couldn't believe it. And then when she finally met you… I'm sure she knew."

"Knew what?"

"That the Lori show was cancelled. She made the right move taking it to another demographic. Maybe she'll do better with rich Middle Eastern assholes, but the American audience is over it."

She giggled at his metaphor. "Oh really?"

"Yep."

"So, what's America into now?"

"Strong black women… like Okoye." he crossed his arms over his chest, rhythmically bouncing his shoulders like a Wakandan.

She slapped his arm, laughing at his silliness and sighed, "America is so fickle, though."

"True. But you have some diehard fans."

"I hope I have the kind of fans who'll be patient til I find my family the perfect house."

"Don't get me wrong I love Relish and Steak but, mom, I can't share a room with newborn twins. Can't we just get a house that's _almost_ perfect and then you can make it perfect like you did with New Years, Christmas and my birthday."

"Carl, I didn't have anything to do with your last birthday. We went go-cart racing and ate at that pizza place. That was all your dad…"

"It was perfect because you were there." he interrupted to fill her in. "I get your obsession but, I guess to me and dad the house doesn't have to be perfect, because… well, you're kinda perfect and as long as we're all together it's gonna be good."

Michonne gave him a sentimental smile and after a second of deliberation, one of her honey buns. She bumped his shoulder playfully, "I'm gonna ignore that you said I'm only _kinda_ perfect. I know you just say that because I'm not a hiker."

"Nope. It's cuz you won't pick a house! Pick us a place and I'll raise your 9.5 to a 10." He said to a roll of her eyes and he grinned.

* * *

"I don't know what she's gonna say, Jessie."

"She's gonna say, 'Crack is wack.'" His long-time agent cocked her head with as much vanilla sass as she could muster and parroted Michonne's usual facetious warning to her, "Do I need to send you to rehab, Jessie?"

Rick laughed at her spot-on impression of the love of his life. "I hope your 'very persuasive' seller gets here before she walks in and walks right back out."

"Me too. He was really charming over the phone but also kinda flighty… But you can see the potential here, right Rick?" She asked in hope of a little back up from the only person she was sure Michonne would listen to. She lifted her head, looking around the site to anticipate any disapproval Michonne might come with.

"Uhh… It looks like a lot of work."

"That's what I thought too, but he swears he can get it done in time. I mean, he's got the resources. And I've seen his work. He's a perfectionist when it comes to vision, materials and deadlines."

"Who's this guy again?"

Just then the sound of a v-12 engine roared outside bringing Rick and Jessie to the large arched windows of the all brick building. Snow from the weekend storm was all but gone. The day had been bright, but now the sun was starting to set, and Rick couldn't help but notice the view of the colors in the sky from their position on a hilly city block. _Michonne's gonna love this view,_ he thought with a small smile as the driver of the 2- door dolphin blue Audi R8 walked across the two-lane street taking a peek at the all black Corvette parked directly in front of the extra wide patch of cemented sidewalk in front of the tall double garage.

"Here he is." Jessie said, moving in subtle excitement to meet the dark-haired clean-shaven gentleman at the large front door.

" _This_ is the seller?" Rick said in surprise as he followed the clack of Jessie's heels through the echoing, unfinished space.

"Yep. That's him." Jessie pulled open the door, the winter wind whipping into the barren site.

The man was dressed like a rockstar, all in black: leather jacket, sunglasses, silver buckled boots. Rick had been expecting to meet Matt Lauer and instead Mick Jagger was reaching out to shake his hand.

* * *

"This shouldn't take that long, Lori Love." Negan said above the radio's volume as he twisted to reach between the front seats to grab his laptop from the back. "Okay?" Comfortably Numb filtered in through the speakers, pulling thoughts from the recesses of her mind and putting lumps in her throat.

 _Does he do this sick shit on purpose?_ Lori wondered at the depressing Pink Floyd number, a little sadder than the one before it but, she was certain, it wouldn't be as crushing as whatever would play next. She felt like a guinea pig being exposed to madness to see if it would take. He and Arat liked to cross-infect each other with crazy. Lori could feel herself coming down with it too, mutating her pre-existing delirium. She had recently started on Negan's prescription for self-medication, a few pills at night, a few lines in the morning. It kept her from thinking and feeling too much about her reality.

Lori found it odd that a man like Negan, who had everything, somehow, found a need to alter his reality. It made sense for Shane, who had nothing. Unlike Shane, who had confessed his addictions to Lori with solemn guilt, Negan bragged about his supplier and the potency of the quaaludes he carried, cavalierly, like a pack of gum. He never forced anything on her. He never offered her a single hit. He never suggested that she give it a try. He just left her alone with a table full of powder and a soul plagued with demons. So, in desperation for a little haze over the 20/20 of hindsight, she swiped a bit when he wasn't looking. But she knew he knew. It was like he got off on her downward spiral all the while claiming to be her saving grace.

"Okay." she said as she looked out over the floor of the city spread out below. The sun was starting to drop into a blazing pink bed out the passenger window to her right, but she didn't notice the awe-inspiring scene. She rarely saw anything beautiful anymore though her husband carried her along on his jet-setting trips and she saw dozens of places she'd never thought she'd see. But she couldn't see the grandeur of ancient ruins and she couldn't feel the hospitality of the sun, just like she was deaf to the rolling waves of pristine beaches. Her world was like a bowl of plastic fruit served to the famished. She couldn't help but think about the parallel of the way she trapped Rick and the trap she found herself in now.

She knew Rick lived somewhere around here. Actually, she wasn't sure if he lived anywhere near there, but she was in the city and she could feel Michonne in the loud hiss of the bus braking at a stop. Rick's dark-skinned lover was haunting the brick in the building and the sepia metal street lights reaching into the smog from the exhaust of public transit. She could hear Michonne's lively spirit in the hum of the city; people bustling to get home at the end of the day. Her mind drifted to Rick coming home from work and Carl coming home from school and converging in some little oasis in one of the hi-rises jutting from the landscape.

"Hey…" Negan leaned into her line of sight from the driver's seat. "You've been really good, baby. I told Arat you wouldn't be any trouble." He tapped the diamond teardrop earring that hung from her lobe and watched it swing. Negan admired her bone structure and the honey-color of her recently lightened hair. He smiled at the improvement. She was just like one of his buildings, he thought, _Good bones, just needed a little work_.

She turned to him and offered a pseudo-smile. Negan liked it when she smiled. She couldn't deny that he could be entertaining without even trying. Sometimes he even got an honest laugh out of her. He liked to believe he was man enough to make a woman happy and Lori let him believe it. She swallowed her sadness and sold it, to keep him agreeable. So, she stayed made up like a Barbie doll for him. She barely recognized herself when she looked in the mirror, which was a relief since she couldn't stand to face herself or all the terrible things she had done.

All the while she had been preoccupied with schemes and making mayhem, she never noticed she was walking into such a suffocating life with Negan. The aftertaste of his sweetness was bitter, but she had made her plate, she'd have to savor and digest her poisonous plight.

Her entire existence consisted of two things: Appeasing her husband and escaping his sister. She could only thank God that Arat freaked out if she was on a plane more than a few hours. As much as Negan traveled, Lori figured if she was good and made herself useful, the time she spent with her crazy sister-in-law/sister-wife would be limited. Lori decided if she was _very_ good and _really_ useful she might get the upper-hand on her and become Negan's favorite.

"Your sister just doesn't like me because I want you all to myself." she said stroking his ego. "I can't really blame her. But I'm glad you decided to bring me along." Ruffling his hair with her slender fingers, her dark eyes met his and she tried to sound convincing as she touched the brazen red of her lips to the corner of his mouth, "Go handle business. The sooner you're done, the sooner you can get back to handling me."

Negan turned her peck into a full-on kiss. "You sure know how to light a fire under a man's ass, don't you?" He said lustfully, his length hardening slightly, as he flipped the sun visor's mirror down and checked his face for smeared lipstick. "I can smell a sale right now." He said wiping at his bottom lip, confident in his ability to persuade the buyers he was about to meet. Then he opened the door and climbed out into the turbulent winds of the day leaving her to resume her forlorn gaze out the window.

As soon as she returned to her reverie, laughter broke her train of thought. She focused her stare on to the rowdy pair on the other side of the street as they made their way up the incline of the hill. The twosome was immediately recognizable to her. A sight she had been longing to see, but one that also broke what little heart she had left.

Carl, looking nearly like a man. He had to have grown six inches since she'd seen him last. He was so smartly dressed in a pair of slim fit khaki pants and a denim and leather lumberjack jacket. His long hair seemed to be pulled back under an olive-green beanie and he was further insulated from the cold with his hoodie pulled up, but she could still see him smiling… hear him laughing. The person whose company he enjoyed so much was speaking loudly in a lively tone, though her words were indecipherable. She turned down the music to try and hear them better.

Michonne. Her belly full of new life and promises, on a waddle alongside Carl. Lori slowly turned her head to follow them as they made a racket, preoccupied by their horseplay. From her seat in the warmth of the car, her mouth fell open as she watched her son enter the building Negan had gone inside and her stomach turned at the thought of Carl interacting with him. She had nagged him and nagged him to meet her son months ago and he finally agreed. Now the thought of that man near her child was like a waking nightmare.

Lori lurched forward instinctively, her heart pounding in her chest. She had thought about running over to him and pulling him into her arms, but there was a painful feeling in the pit of her stomach giving her second thoughts. She couldn't face him.

She was ashamed. It wasn't solely the humiliation of being with Negan… she was getting good at that. Though she knew Carl had been charmed by his father's new woman, she refused to believe that Negan had been right. It never fazed her when that asshole told her that Carl would be happier with Rick and Michonne.

 _As if some slang-spewing baby mama could replace me_. _Rick may have fallen prey to her 'twerking',_ she thought, _but no outside force could break the bond I have with my son._

Still she hesitated. Her hand was tightly curled around the door handle, but she was making no attempt to get out. She realized she could have made a run for it the moment they landed in Reagan National. She could have called for help a dozen times, but she didn't. She could drive off right now, if she really wanted. But she didn't. The guilt of everything she'd done paralyzed her. More specifically, the burden of the way she had neglected Carl in attempts to cordon him off from the life Rick was building, in her empty efforts to one-up Michonne with Negan- who she thought was a wealthier, more charming version of Rick.

Lori was right. No outside force could break the bond she had with her son. She did that all by herself. She dropped her head and conceded. Her self-loathing turned to anger quickly. Her nose crinkled and her eyes narrowed as accountability warred with her delusion and she had a shocking yet overwhelming need for Negan to come save her from the noise in her head with the pointless droning of his voice.

* * *

"Sorry, I'm late as balls." He said with a dimpled smile, giving Rick's hand a confident shake. "I'm Negan. Nice to meet you, man. That your 'vette out there?" He asked throwing a thumb back to Black Panther.

Rick and Michonne had switched cars for the time being and Rick got compliments from guys whenever he drove Michonne's cherry of a car. He always felt a swell of pride in acknowledging it was not his. "My wife's." Rick answered slowly as Negan's name connected in his steel-trap of a mind.

 _So, this is the guy that married Lori? He doesn't seem to be ready to blow his brains across a wall,_ Rick thought as he analyzed the other man's mischievous grin and firm handshake. Negan had a look in his eyes that said he knew a dirty secret and liked to slither around in the muck of it. It was like the sliminess Rick knew was in Lori's bare character. _I guess there really is someone for everyone_.

"A lady pushes a ride that sweet?" Negan asked, leaning in to hug Jessie and planted a chaste but somehow naughty kiss to her cheek.

The blonde turned sunburn red. "It fits her, you'll see. She's a firecracker." Jessie said about Michonne. So, I hope you came prepared." She turned to her client, "Negan this is Rick Grimes."

Negan's expression matched Rick's after Jessie's introduction. "Rick Grimes, huh?" He said on a curious lean. "You run a security firm, right?" Rick's face was the opposite of Negan's shit-eating grin, "Got damn! If it ain't a small world. Imagine meeting you here!"

Now, Jessie took on the look of recognition they seemed to be passing around. "You two know each other?"

"I guess you could say we know _of_ each other." Rick forced a quick twitch of a smile feeling his spidey senses tingle in Negan's presence.

"Jessie, are you serious right now?" Michonne's muffled voice broke up the building tension in the room. She stepped inside through the open door with her hand in a bag of tortilla chips, an open jar of queso hugged to her chest and a mouthful of the combination. "You're showing us a firehouse?"

"I think it's cool." Carl came in behind her, immediately looking up at the grand, mosaic glass-tiled ceiling right above them to the exposed beams in the room on the right and left of the entry. The place was chalky-looking and stark the checkered floors were expansive but dusty. The smell of treated wood planks, putty, caulk, paint and plaster was thick, nearly aromatic in the large vestibule where they all stood. A wide staircase to the second floor rose on slender steps before them.

"Michonne this is the seller, Negan Louis." Jessie offered.

Shocked, Carl quickly shot his eyes to the man he knew as his mother's boyfriend and then to his dad as Michonne ignored Negan all together, "Jessie, I know, I'm hot but maybe not quite hot enough to live in an actual firehouse." Michonne scoffed in disbelief.

"Hello, Mrs. Grimes." Negan pulled himself out of the staring contest he was having with Rick and stepped forward to shake Michonne's hand. She went to wipe her crumb-covered fingers across her thigh but couldn't bring herself to sully her oversized satin shirt-dress. Seeing her predicament, Rick pulled out his emergency tissues, took her hand in his and wiped away the greasy crumbs. Negan bit his bottom lip at the adorable scene, hugging his laptop to his chest. He was on the verge of making an off-color remark about American women but fought the urge. "It's nice to finally meet you. I've heard a lot about you."

To say that Jessie had told him a lot about her was a bit of standard elaboration by Negan. The medium between them had told him that her clients were successful newlyweds and soon to be a family of five. The wife, as Jessie referred to Michonne, was labeled smart and funny but hard to please. The husband was described as a man impervious to fast talk, hard to read and most importantly, eager to please his wife. Jessie might have told him more than that but it was hard for Negan to pay attention unless he was the one doing the talking.

"Hey, Carl." Negan acknowledge the Grimes kid.

Holding a disturbed scowl, Carl only acknowledged Negan with a lift of his chin in the man's direction. Assuming he knew Carl's name from Jessie's lips, Michonne spoke up, "It's nice to meet you, Mr…?"

"Call me Negan."

That name sounded familiar to her, but she wasn't sure where she'd hear it and, in the moment, she really didn't care. "Negan. My husband and I are looking for a _house…_ I didn't think it was necessary to specify _non-fire_. I'm sure Jessie told you that I can be…"

"Excessive." Jessie finished

"NO…" Michonne disagreed with a neckroll. "Particular when it comes to my family."

"Jessie told me you were a firecracker and Rick told me that you own that bad bitch out there..." Negan referenced Michonne's coupe, taking a good long look at her, "But neither of them told me how gorgeous you are."

Michonne squenched her face, unfazed by Negan's flattery. After a deep unimpressed sigh, she looked to Jessie. "Why are we in an old firehouse, Jessie? You high again? I told you crack is wack, boo." Jessie gave Rick a raised brow and a tilt of the head as her prophecy came true.

Rick couldn't help but crack a smile. "Baby." he said softly seeking to calm his wife. He pulled her to stand in front of him, her back against his front. She faced Negan and Jessie while he placed both his hands on her shoulders, rubbing his thumbs along the base of her neck. He leaned to whisper in her ear. "Remember what we talked about? Be good."

"Okay." Michonne Stuffed her mouth with chips to keep quiet and her eyes went wide when Rick asked Negan,

"How's Lori?" Rick inquired and Michonne looked at her husband and then at Carl and finally her eyes landed back on Negan, whose lips were stretching slowly into a Cheshire smile. _Negan_ , she repeated without speaking. _Lori's boyfriend… Lori's husband._ "We haven't heard from her." Rick pressed, with a raised brow.

"Lori's fantastic!" he said smugly. "She's waiting for me out in the car. I'll go get her."

* * *

Lori had turned the music back up and reached inside her clutch resting on the seat near her hip and pulled out a piece of paper folded into a square. She pulled open the flaps and held it to her nose to sniff the antidote to her feelings. She slipped back into a sort of self-induced coma until Negan came back… much quicker than expected.

The driver's side door snapped open. The man who fed her torments and addictions rested his arm on the car roof and lowered his head to peek inside.

"Lori..." His smile was beyond perverse as he paused for dramatic effect. "This is gonna be entertaining as fuck."


	40. Chapter 40

Negan was somewhat disappointed that there hadn't been any drama when he brought Lori tip-toeing in behind him. He had expected, at the least, for Carl or Rick to lose their shit at the sight of the absentee parent. At the most, he thought maybe there would be a catfight between Rick's ex-wife and the urban 'fly girl' he'd married. But Jessie had made the most fuss.

It had been years since Lori and Jessie had seen each other. Jessie fawned over Lori's new look. Her high ponytail, spilling honey brown spirals, her creased wide-bottom jeans and the white tie neck blouse under her black trench told the story of a well put together woman. Her heavy eyes, flushed face and dilated pupils told another. Rick and Michonne glanced toward each other. All her dealings with her brother and all Rick's interaction with the tweakers at the parties he patrolled, gave them both an extra eye to recognize the telltale signs of substance abuse.

"Lori you look great!" Jessie pulled her limp stature into a friendly hug. "How do you know Negan?"

Lori's tongue felt as if it weighed a ton as she looked around at all the faces in the room. Her ex-husband who, she couldn't deny, she still wanted. Her bleached brow lifted as she lingered on his handsome face and those thick curls. His wide chest was covered but, in a way, more pronounced under the soft wool of his dark gray winter coat. He looked more polished but still indisputably Rick, standing there holding Michonne's hand like he used to hold hers a lifetime ago. His beautiful blue-eyed stare, made her sick to her stomach. A seized heart jolted her out of that thought.

A man like Rick had wanted her once and the knowledge of that hurt and comforted her at the same time. Until the loopy lady settled on Michonne again. Her nails, decorated with gold and tiny rhinestones traced along the side of her belly, showcasing her ring. She immediately had a follow up to Jessie's question. "Are you okay, Lori?"

Lori had a bone chilling scream in the back of her throat for an answer, instead she swallowed and nodded. Looking to Negan to do what he does best and talk. But he only stood there with that sadistic grin, watching her like a lab rat in a maze.

"They're married, Jessie." Rick finally spoke up, causing Negan to tilt his head, impressed by the other man's knowledge. Lori looked horrified and watched for Carl's reaction to the news. Her son sat behind them all on the bottom stair sending a text to Enid, wholly uninterested in his mother's presence or the conversation underway.

Negan hooked Lori's scrawny neck into the crook of his arm, like a coach might show pride for a player on his team. "That's right. Got me a ball and chain. We eloped." Negan confirmed. "How'd you hear about it?"

"It's my job to know thangs." Rick answered with a cold stare. He didn't like Negan much, he decided. Eugene had reported his penchant for pills and powder, but Rick hadn't held that against him. Rich guys like Negan get stoned and never become sloppy. With so many lackeys working for their success they never have to function at 100%. Lori's new husband was no different from the Wall Street sharks and business tycoons that Rick stood alongside under contract. The majority of them were okay guys, just too weak to be real men in the real world. He could tell Negan suffered from the same deficiency.

Rick's problem with Negan was that he had Lori on her way to being strung out, if she wasn't already. Strung out and completely forgetting her son. But, he figured, that was Lori's doing as much as it was Negan's. So, if Michonne wanted this place, he didn't have to like Negan any more than he'd have to like the guy at McDonald's making her milkshake. "Congratulations to you both." He said and Michonne followed suit.

"Yeah, congrats you two."

"Two newly wed couples. How romantic!" Jessie said with an envious sigh. 'Negans' and 'Ricks' seemed to fall into every other woman's lap but her own. She didn't understand how she always missed these rain showers of eligible bachelors. But here she was in her seventh year of drought, still divorced with no prospects in sight and two little boys who would like to drive her insane. "Let's get on with this viewing. I really can't wait for Negan to show you guys."

"Finally." Carl groused standing up to follow the adults out to the back patio. He wasn't happy to see Lori, but he wasn't upset either. He was eager to get on with the transition of stabilizing this new and improved family unit. This house hunt was so important to Carl because he wanted to stay with his dad and Michonne and he felt like once they had a place to settle and grow, there was no reason he would ever have to go back to living with Lori. Even when all the adults were in agreement that he would only stay with his dad until Lori returned from her trip with Negan, Carl was plotting. He had decided he was going to stay with his father for good. No matter what.

A gray slate landing overlooking the former parking lot led to a hay-strewn field. Grass seed had been sown and by mid-spring the lawn would be lush and vibrant. A walkway of matching stone led beyond the modest patch of earth. Covered in pale blue tarps were hills of loose dirt and equipment which Negan explained were the beginnings of a pool and the teenager among them lit up for the first time since his mother's arrival.

"Pool party for my next birthday?" He nudged Michonne with his elbow and an expectant raise of his brow, excited at the prospect of seeing his girlfriend in a bikini. Michonne seemed unmoved. Lori was slapped in the face by another example of their bond. She wondered if she'd get an invitation to Carl's next birthday. If she received an invitation, would Negan let her go?

They re-entered the central part of the house that was mostly exposed pipes and uncovered light sockets.

"Now, I know the kitchen can be a deal breaker for women, so we can do whatever the fuck you want in here. My contractor will make it happen. This is what I was thinking…" He said as he activated the screen of his laptop/tablet hybrid and swiped to a 3D kitchen blueprint. Sleek, glossy red cabinets formed a U-shape around white walls topped with black granite.

"I like the layout. But that red might be a little too much even for me." Rick swiped his hand under his chin, agreeing with his wife and nixing the red. She smiled at his cute little passive aggressive gesture. "That red got me feeling like I've always been the caretaker here." She made a private joke that she expected only her guys to catch after their most recent movie night. Rick smirked and shook his head at her silly comment.

Carl sputtered out a stifled laugh. "Redrum. Redrum." he added in a scratchy imitation of the horror movie.

Lori and Jessie were totally puzzled but Negan caught the reference. "The Shining. Right? That's a classic. Psycho ass Jack Nicholson is my shit!" Lori wasn't familiar with the movie, but she was well-versed in Negan's special brand of psycho. "Okay, so scratch the fuckin' red. Tell me what you want, and I'll make it happen. This here is a blank canvas. You appear to be the type of woman who has her shit together."

"It's what she does for a living. She's a design consultant." Jessie informed Negan with a smile.

"No shit? Maybe you and me can collab on a few projects. I mean I already like your style." Negan bit his bottom lip and moved his devilish eyes from Michonne to her husband. "Whad'ya think Ricky? I seem to get along real good with your wives."

"I only have one wife." Rick corrected him sternly and walked on to the next room in the house.

The open dining area led to the grand room back at the front of the house. "This building was constructed in 1908 and we restored the tile and the medallions in the ceilings. Everything is original… except for that chandelier." The light fixture, resembling a starburst, sparkled and floated conspicuously overhead. Brass with crystal spikes, Negan saw Michonne's face brighten as she admired the exceptional orb-shaped piece of decor. "That bad boy is one of a kind. Had it flown in from Paris."

"You see it's little… or, rather, big touches like that I knew you'd enjoy, Michonne." Jessie said proudly when she also noticed her picky client's reaction. "When Negan showed me this place, it just felt like your kind of style. The whole place is so unique. I knew you would love it."

Michonne reapplied her poker face but Jessie was right. The round-bellied beauty's skepticism was waning, and she quietly warmed to the unconventional home. Rick could feel her smooth, petite hand tighten around his every time a new feature excited her.

The half bathroom near the main stair was bigger than her current one. Sasha always complained about helping Duke go potty in there because there wasn't enough room for the two of them. Normally Abe would be on potty duty but, big as he was, he could barely be in there by himself. This house had enough toilets for all the Ford men to practice their pitiful aims at once.

She loved the built-in bookcases of the down stairs office and the adjoining room, with big windows and an eastern exposure. She decided Rick could have the office and she would take the room that would give her morning sun as a studio. Already imagining quickies on his desk while her background colors dried, she leaned into his arm with a contented shrug.

The upstairs offices that had been converted to bedrooms and all held accommodating walk-in closets, matching Michonne's request. Upper level laundry, home automation, sitting room in the master, the queen of this house hunt was almost sold. But she actually leapt in unbridled delight when she saw the all brass novelty at the end of the oblong master bedroom.

"Is that...?" She nearly skipped over to the upright pole, looking to the spot in the ceiling where the shaft disappeared.

"That is!" Jessie confirmed and jibbed her with cheeky confidence. "Do I still need rehab? Or am I nailing your must-have list," she flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder, "like a boss?"

"Okay. Okay." Michonne nodded in satisfied acquiescence to her realtor's gloating. "You did good."

"Damn! Who the hell has a fireman's pole on their list of must-haves for a house?" Negan chuckled bemused, as Michonne gripped the vertical bar and started a tame 'test-strut' around the pole.

"Well, Mrs. Grimes, here, asked for a pole… for uh…" Rick cleared his throat with a chuckle, looking back at the garish seller in leather with a cocky fold of his arms across his chest, "for reasons."

"And she's got one… on two levels." The blonde strolled over to the baby-heavy house hunter, who was currently throwing a wicked eye to meet the charmed, unflinching gaze of her blue-eyed husband. "So, do I get my 'boss name' back?"

"Yes, Jess Blaze. You earned it!" Michonne slapped hands with the proud real estate agent and reinstated the nickname she had revoked after the last unsatisfactory listing they'd toured.

Carl came into the room behind everyone, holding his phone up with his camera reversed so he could give Enid a peek at the place on Facetime. Witnessing the celebratory hi-five between Michonne and Jessie, he lit up with excitement. "Mom," he called, and Lori turned instinctively and expectantly, her heart nearly bursting that her son finally took some pity on her. Tears of joy welled up in her eyes. She felt she didn't deserve his recognition as much as she craved it. But as soon as her cold existence began to thaw from the recognition of her child, a deep freeze moved in leaving her iced over and shattered when Carl looked straight to Michonne and asked, "Are you picking this one?!"

Lori remembered the day Rick married Michonne. She wasn't there but she remembered the sound of celebrating and free-flowing music. She remembered desperately screaming for help then and Carl being too preoccupied to hear it. She remembered the way the call ended abruptly while she crouched in hiding next to Negan's toilet. She remembered the jagged knife in her heart hearing her son address another woman as his mother. It hurt a little less this time and she realized it wasn't the drugs dulling her predicted pain, it was anger. She turned away from Carl, who hadn't made eye contact with her once since she arrived. It was like she wasn't there. She scoffed under her breath at the disloyalty of her own flesh and blood.

"Not yet, Son Number One." Michonne answered her hopeful sidekick. "Okay, Negan. What's the catch? This place is nice and all that, but how is it in our price range?" Quirking a suspicious eye at her new acquaintance, she completely missed the looks of collusion Jessie and Rick traded.

"So, the lady who I was doing this reno with- this brass-balled chick named Betsy Bennett-Holton..."

"I know Betsy." Michonne said with a fond smile. "I did a party for her last summer." She turned to Jessie, "If you think I'm a headache to deal with you should try working for her.

"Some ladies get got…" Negan turned to Lori and grinned like a dog with a bone, "and some ladies are go-getters. Old Betsy is a go-getter that's for sure." Michonne smiled in agreement with Negan's assessment of the seventy-year-old widowed socialite. "Problem is she decided to _go get_ herself hitched to a Swedish banker in his forties and pulled outta this thing. No biggie." He shrugged. "Woman's prerogative to change her mind. Right, Ricky? But I met Jessie's boss at a shindig last Friday. Said she had clients that wanted to stay in this neighborhood… ain't much inventory for a five bed, five bath house in a ten block radius… 'less you get creative."

They ended their survey of the home in the same place they started near the front door. Michonne wore a very different expression than she had when she first entered the unconventional project.

"Well, thank you for coming out Mr. Louis." Jessie said with a tired but satisfied smile.

"Negan."

"Negan. I'll be in touch one way or the other by Monday."

"Or we could just drop all the suspense and you guys could give me an offer," He suggested to Rick and Michonne matter of factly, "cuz I know this is the place those babies are gonna grow up and honestly nothing makes me and the missus happier, right Lori Love?" Another tired smile made an appearance, but the smile Lori gave held none of the satisfaction of Jessie's. "Now saying this goes against my occupational instinct, but since we're practically family," he shrugged, giving Carl a blasé glance, "I'm willin' to take a loss here. I mean I never had a kid, but I think this young man's well-being is our shared responsibility. I mean technically I'm his step dad and since me and the wife here won't be here as much, the least I can do is make sure her son has a kick ass place to call home."

Most of the people there felt queasy hearing Negan call himself Carl's stepdad all of them blamed Lori for the fact that it was true, even Lori herself.

"Thanks, but we don't need charity." Rick interjected.

"Not charity. Call it… an exchange of wedding gifts, one couple to another. Look, Michonne… Rick, I've done some of my best work in here. Do me a solid and make this place extra special. I do this work cuz I love it. I love to save old properties like this. Obviously, it ain't about money." He lifted a smug brow. I plan to sell Lori's house anyway, cuz she's gonna be a Saudi girl from now on. Ain't that right, babe? Her citizenship paperwork is being processed as we speak."

Still reeling from her son's words, Negan's plan hit his unsuspecting wife head on, effectively robbing her of the last bit of her high. She parted her lips to speak but only a weak ghost of an objection left her throat.

"Lori's house?" Rick looked to Lori who was still trapped in the uncomfortable bend of Negan's elbow. "That ain't Lori's house. That house belongs to me. Bought and paid for. She just lives there."

"Hmm." Negan's high-strung temperament deflated and he went quiet, contemplating. Shifting his stance to look Lori in the eyes, he narrowed his own with an unreadable mixed expression. She jumped when his volume rose again unexpectedly, resuming his carefree tone, "Well that'll be one less thing we have to worry about, right Lori Love? I'll tell you what Jess Blaze," he winked at Jessie, adopting Michonne's friendly nickname for the mediator of the group, "I'll include a bonus for you personally if you can get this deal done."

Jessie tilted her head and quirked her brow, praying her client would say yes. Still maintaining her professional autonomy, she advised the happy wife. "You're not gonna find another place even close to being this custom-made for you, Michonne. But, obviously it's your choice."

"Mom! Come on, please. This place is awesome."

Michonne rolled her eyes away from their pleading kid. Unable to stop smiling, she felt very silly being so outwardly giddy in front of Lori and Negan, but she couldn't help it. She looked around at the two-story entry, already picking patterns for the walls in her mind. She tapped her lips indecisively as she had a vision of Carl taking pictures in the middle of the main staircase with his date for prom. She looked at Rick with a hesitant smile, "You haven't said much, babe. What do you think?"

"I think you look happy and if you're happy, so am I."

Carl grinned, stepping back out into the hallway to resume his conversation with the smiling girl on his phone screen. "I think she's gonna say yes."

"So cool." Enid responded. "Oh hey, Carl did you ask your dad if we could get backstage at the concert."

"No. I forgot. I'll ask him tonight. He starts that job in a few days and we'll be working it for weeks. So, there's still time. I still don't know how you can be a fan of hers, though. Her music is garbage."

"What?! Jadis rocks."


	41. Chapter 41

"Hey! Y'all can come in. Throw ya coat on a hook and make ya'self at home" Rick, Michonne and Shane nervously entered the darkened space of the modest log cabin returning Kayleigh's freckled smile. They had been in communication through emails for a few days now, thanks to Eugene. That only served to heighten the red-headed teen's naturally friendly personality and she greeted them like they were people she'd known all her life. Kayleigh Wade managed Marilyn Walsh's and a few other Wikipedia pages for her grandfather, who loved the internet but refused to learn how to use it. "I'll go get him. He's been lookin' forward to meeting y'all all mornin'. He ain't been near as grumpy as usual."

The sprightly youngster, dressed in a jean skirt over pink floral leggings topped with an off-white sweater, continued a solitary conversation on the rebellious nature of her grandfather as bunny slippers carried her back into the rustic home. "Paw Paw they're here." she called out, before turning back to the company shedding their coats. "Get y'all anythang to drink?"

Michonne declined the drink but asked for directions to the one and only bathroom in the antique home. The cast iron tub and twin faucet sink, though clean, were stained and dingy with the progression of more than a hundred years time. She had gone and come back before the man they'd come to see made his appearance.

"Well, looky here. Don't know who you favor more, Gunner or Lyndi. But ya grew up good, from the sight of ya." Said the tall, slow moving man with fading tattoos as he shuffled from the back of the house to meet them. He focused on Rick standing there in his oxblood sweater, brown tapered jeans and cap toe boots. "Don Wade. Y'all call me Rooster."

"I'm Rick Grimes."

"Well, shit, if you aint." Rooster smiled excitedly, brandishing his gold tooth in an otherwise perfect smile. He shook Rick's extended hand and looked him right in the eye as if those blue orbs made an introduction of their own. "And who's this pretty lady?" The wrinkled host asked before Rick could say. "Looks like she stepped outta a movie." he marveled, taking in the classic cradle of her wine-red high-heeled booties, the umber hued beauty's flawless makeup, glowing gold jewelry and the dramatic curls and ruffles of her mustard yellow neoprene mini dress, which were even more voluminous over her big belly.

"This is my wife, Michonne and this is Shane Walsh," Rooster grabbed Shane's hand for a firm shake. "He's my wife's brother and, we think, my cousin."

"Your cousin _and_ your wife's brother? Aw, hell." the senior in the assembled group said with an apologetic tone. Anticipation turned to pity as he assumed the secrets about to be unearthed would send the pregnant girl before him into labor with the unnerving results of first-cousins coupling.

Most people immediately understood that Michonne and Shane were not blood relatives, but that obvious detail seemed to escape their new acquaintance. Following Rooster's train of thought by the queasy expression under his long white whiskers, Shane grinned in his plaid button-up and khakis and spoke to put the old man at ease, "I'm her _adopted_ brother." he clarified.

Don's face relaxed."Well, ain't I glad to hear it! Okay. So, you're Judy's boy? Now, I weren't as close to yer momma as I was Rick's. But I knew and loved Lyndi like my own flesh and blood. Always hoped I'd get to see you grown and well, Richard." He said sincerely. "When your daddy left with you in tow, I understood why he did it, but I wanted ya to know 'bout yer momma too, son. So, when my granddaughter told me ya left that email message on the computer, I was sure glad of it. Must have an awful lot'a questions and I'm ready to spill the beans. I can tell ya now, it ain't a fairytale but if ya wanna know, I'll tell it true."

Despite the baldness of his crown, Don Wade still managed a foot-long silver ponytail that laid limp over the white tee on his curved back. His jeans fit him loosely and a pair of black suspenders kept them at his hips. "Sit on down." He gestured to the ratty yellow and green plaid couch in the otherwise tidy main room off the entrance. Continuing his leather slipper shuffle over to the worn brown reclining chair covered in a cream blanket with a woodsy print. The visiting trio followed.

"Yeah. I want to know." Rick answered solemnly as they all took a seat. He lowered his head with a smile of gratitude as Michonne gave his hand an unseen comforting squeeze.

"Well, I gotta start 'fore ya was ever even thought of, son." Rooster picked up a tobacco pipe and placed it between his teeth. Michonne placed a palm over her extended middle, nervously groping for the right way to ask their guest not to smoke in his own home. "Don't ya worry, pretty lady." Rooster assured her with a twinkle in his eye, "Kayleigh won't let me light this thang. I just use it as an old timer's prop. Old as I am and ain't allowed one vice."

"She's a good granddaughter. The people who love you want you to live forever." Michonne wrapped her other hand around the one she was already holding and thought back to the first time she laid eyes on her husband and how, since that first day, he'd been giving her enough life to live forever. She grinned as Rooster waved off her words with an exasperated breath.

"We live forever long as people love us." He countered with a wink and a nod. "S'How come I told y'all to come on up to see me, keeps Lyndi alive in my mind. Knew yer momma since she was a baby." Rooster said to Rick, "and yer'n too," he acknowledged Shane. "Knew ya grandma. She stayed here with my momma after they hanged your grandaddy."

"Wait. Who hung our grandaddy?" Shane interjected with shifting eyes.

"Buncha white men, too low even for the Klan." Rooster said, disgusted. "Got him for shackin' up with a white woman."

Rick's brow only furrowed but Shane spoke up. "A white woman? Are you sayin' granddad wasn't white?"

"He wasn't white and neither was the white woman they hanged him for. See the Walshes were new to our town, I think they came from further south somewheres… anyhow, Anna, yer grandma, could pass. Meaning people took her for white all the time. She had dark hair and light brown eyes but she was the same color as me and her daughters all came out fair. Lyndi's hair was even blonde. All those racist devils saw was C.W. defilin' a white woman and 'er young daughters. Pollutin' the race." Rooster said with sarcastic disdain. "Judy and Abbi was just tiny little thangs when they hanged yer grandaddy, Lyndi was just a bump. Without a man to care for 'um, my momma let Anna and 'er girls move in here with us."

Rick sat a little closer to the edge of the couch. "I'm sorry. What are you saying? My mother was black?"

"And my mother, too?" Shane asked through eyes squeezed shut to comprehend.

"They was."

Shane's body went limp as he fell back into the couch cushions, all the air leaving his lungs. Michonne reached behind Rick and put a hand on her brother's shoulder. "Bubba, you okay?"

He turned and their brown eyes met but he was speechless. Michonne spoke with conviction, "I'm sorry, Rooster." she shook her head trying to understand, "I've seen pictures of Marilyn online and Bubba has pictures of Judy. They're white."

"They wasn't. But I'm sure Judy would'a been glad to hear you say that." Rooster grinned wistfully. He groaned as he stretched his fossilized muscles to pass Michonne an old square photo of Caleb and Anna Walsh.

It was easy to see, even in the antique black and white picture. Grandpa Walsh, it seemed, was a lighter complexion than most. With his broad nose and wooly hair, though, he was sure enough a black man. His wife's heritage was more ambiguous, but under the lens of this new information, it was possible to believe she wasn't of European decent. Her race may have been a mystery but what was clear from the image was the fact that she was a wife and a mother. Well-dressed and proud. A toddler clung to her finger between her and her husband. He held another baby girl in his arms and though her belly was nowhere near as big as Michonne's, her skinny frame could not hide the fact that she was pregnant.

Mrs. Grimes could almost channel the heartache and fear rushing in on her from decades past. The thought of losing your provider, protector and the love of your life while carrying his babies was almost unbearable. She passed the picture on to her husband, who barely looked at it before he passed it on to Shane. Shane studied the picture. While Rick kept unblinking eyes on their host. Michonne's brown orbs jumped from one man to the next, trying to gauge all the feelings in the room.

Rooster continued, "Life was harder for coloreds back then, not that it's roses now, but Judy ain't want no parts of a colored woman's life. She high-tailed it outta town soon as she was old enough to go live 'er life elsewheres. Somewhere where nobody knew nothin' bout 'er except the color of 'er skin. She ain't never look back." The storyteller lowered his eyes, "Imagine what it must'a been like... in that time... to be able to hide in plain sight, disguised in yer own skin."

It took Shane a brief moment of silence to come to terms with the fact that his mother wasn't white. He understood that self-hate was real, even in a generation making strides towards diversity. Judith Walsh loved him and wanted to spare him whatever grief and injustice she could. She tried to make it work with a maniac so he could have a leg up in the world and when it was all said and done, ultimately, she gave her life to keep him from harm. Her reasoning was faulty, but her motives were pure and he couldn't bring himself to think ill of her for her deception.

"What about Aunt Abbi?" Shane asked. He still held a grudge that his aunt never took him in when his mother went away.

"Abbi never thought of bein' colored as a curse. Her and Judy fought about that a lot."

"So that's why she left me in foster care when my mom died?" Shane said, unimpressed. He wouldn't believe petty sibling squabbles could keep family from doing what it was intended to do: take care of each other.

"Abigail fell in love with a colored feller and run off too. She was a good girl. If she ain't care for ya after Judy died, I can only guess it was because she knew yer momma wouldn't have wanted ya raised in a colored family." Rooster explained, deciphering the truth as he went along.

Despite his redneck drawl, growing up in a house full of melanin, Shane always felt like he had a stake in the culture. Finding out it was more than a feeling made all the sense to him in the world. Had he been raised by his mother, he may have never experienced the wealth of hope, joy and endurance that comes from thriving through oppression. It only made him even more sure that God had always put him where he needed to be. From life under Morgan's roof to life in prison, all the dead ends in his life seemed to be detours. Detours that kept him on his path, no matter the obstacles.

"And Marilyn?" Michonne prodded Don.

"Lyndi missed her sisters but she was the baby, shy and quiet. She stayed on with my family after Miss Anna died."

"What happened to Anna?" At that moment, Michonne seemed to be the only one capable of speaking.

"Had a stroke. It killed 'er dead, right here in our livin' room when I was about fourteen." The old man's voice cracked on a whisper. "A terrible thang. Lyndi sang 'Amazing Grace' at Miss Anna's funeral, she always liked to sing, and she asked me if I'd accompany 'er on the harmonica. Said if I didn't do it with 'er she'd only cry instead'a sing. She always had a beautiful voice."

Hearing this about his mother tugged Michonne's heartstrings and she felt a warmth radiate inside her as she thought about the way he couldn't help humming in the morning or singing when he's happy. It was always sweet to her, the way he sang to her belly but now she felt like maybe it was Lyndi there too, loving on her grandbabies through music. "So does Rick." Michonne added, leaning forward with a smile for her husband who still sat stunned.

Rick mustered up the presence of mind to return a faint smile. "My mother never wanted me to sing, though." He said almost catatonic. "I mean, Florence didn't."

"Well, when people heard Lyndi sing they knew it was somethin' special. They got 'er into a music school a few towns over and that's where she met the rest of our band. First time I saw yer daddy, it was after a set at the Swill Mill, an old booze joint we used to play. I could tell they knew each other well. But she kept that from the rest of us. She was always like that. Never wanted nobody to know 'er business. Real private." Michonne smiled at how familiar that sounded too. "He didn't come 'round often, only the weekends, but we could always tell when 'er beau was in town. She was full'a light. 'Round that time, she started comin' up with new lyrics and melodies for the group… Damn good, too- Bayou Baby, Sorry I Hurt You, Sweetheart Darlin' of Mine…" He named a few of the crowd's favorites that Marilyn and Everett had made together. "Finally she told us Gunner was helpin' 'er write 'em. "

"Gunner?"

"That's what we called old Everett. Man was the salt of the earth, but he had a short fuse, 'specially when it came to Lyndi. Seen him tune up more'n one feller over his girl. He carried a Colt all the damn time like he was goin' to war. Kept it in his waistband. That crazy fucker could be a damn savage when he wanted."

"So when did Flo get into the picture?" Shane couldn't help but wonder.

"Well, now that's the part that ain't so nice. Come to find out, Gunner was already married when he met yer momma." The excited smile Michonne had been wearing since Rooster began, fell and she slowly deflated next to Rick. "Son, your daddy was a good man, I'd tell anyone that and it's the truth. But good men can do wrong. And your daddy did."

"So he was cheating on his wife with Rick's mom?" Michonne understood, but she still had to ask. Everything she'd heard about Everett Grimes was something she liked until now. Everything she's heard about him and Marilyn reminded her of Rick. Knowing their union was based on unfaithfulness and deceit made her uneasy in a way she couldn't quite describe.

Rooster didn't repeat himself, he just went on retelling history. "Lyndi told us all she was pregnant. I didn't like how much Gunner was away but Lyndi seemed happy, so I left it alone. And what could I say? I sure weren't no saint and Lyndi was a smart girl and good mother." Rooster pointed the tip of his pipe at his rapt audience establishing his point. "Only time she wasn't with ya was when she was on stage and even then, you wasn't far. My wife, Lulu, used to keep ya til after a set but then Lyndi would rush to get back to spoilin' you rotten."

Michonne listened, figuring she would be just the same with her babies and again her heart broke for another woman in the past, thinking of all Marilyn must've dreamed about and hoped for her son but never saw him accomplish. She couldn't imagine anything but death keeping her from her children and her mind tumbled into fearful scenarios that she had never even considered. She shook free of unhappy thoughts, though she knew, eventually, this story would end unhappily for everyone involved.

"Anyway," their narrator returned to the point, "Gunner proposed. He stayed with us then, didn't never go back home after that. None of us knew he was married, 'cept for Lyndi. She knew. Gunner never lied to 'er. I can say that. He weren't no liar. We were all fixin' to leave the state cuz the band was offered a long tourin' contract. 2 years. Guess they both figured they was gonna run away together… live happily ever after. They loved each other enough. No one woulda argued that." Mr. Wade testified. "But one day, Gunner's wife- who none of us knew existed- showed up here. Won't never forget that day. Richard, you had just took yer first steps the day before and yer momma was so proud. You were fallin' all over my carpet." Don's face lit up then darkened. "It was rainin' cats and dogs. She caught the bus to come find Gunner. Hitchhiked the rest of the way. I didn't know Florence at all, but I could tell when she stepped into this livin' room that she was a pill. Forgive me for sayin' so, I know she raised ya and that's gotta 'count for somethin'. I know."

"No offense taken. She did raise me and I'm grateful. But I think everybody in this room knows how Florence can be." He looked to his left and his right and Michonne and Shane's expressions said what they wouldn't verbalize about the widow Grimes.

"What happened when she got here?" Michonne nearly begged.

"Florence cried. Told Gunner she was pregnant... and all alone. He swore the baby couldn't be his and Marilyn believed him. Hell, I did too. It had been over a year since he'd moved in here and I seen with my own eyes that him and Lyndi was always together. Florence never claimed the baby was his but she still wanted him to come home. Said both of 'um had made mistakes but she was his wife. Said he made a promise."

"And Marilyn. What did she say?"

"Ya gotta understand," Mr. Wade began to level, "Marilyn might've been the name of the wrecking ball that crashed through Everett Grimes' home but she wasn't a homewrecker. That house had been condemned 'fore she ever knew him. It wasn't her intention to fall for a married man… Love can be a terrible thang in the wrong situation."

"So's that why he left my mother?" Rick's words crept into the Q&A, not knowing what answer he wanted or expected but afraid to hear it all the same.

"Look son, It was a sad set of circumstances. But Gunner had made up his mind. He let Florence cry her eyes out... but when it was all said and done, he told Florence that he wished 'er the best but he was in love with Marilyn and he had a family with 'er. He said he wanted that divorce and he was gonna get it, come hell or high water. After she cursed him and Lyndi with everythang she had, Gunner drove 'er back to the bus depot. Lyndi rode shotgun and I kept an eye on you til your folks got back. And that was that."

"Damn." was all Shane could contribute. But no one could have said for sure whether it was the situation itself or Everett's final decision that he found so remarkable.

Michonne did not like the choice Rick's father made, but as a woman desperately in love, she knew that ignoring a feeling that runs so deep would be like ripping a tree from the ground- roots and all. Her genuinely empathetic heart was so conflicted, she worried for Marilyn, Everett and Florence. Useless as it was, she tried to think of a way they all could have been happy; a way for Rick to be spared the fallout.

Understanding the toxicity of a rotten marriage- growing up in the middle of one and then creating his own- Rick knew his father should have left. He only wished he'd done it in a better way. But more than anything, right now, he wanted to know what became of his mother. "So what happened?" he asked, successfully holding his brimming tears at bay.

Rooster sighed feeling the sting of sadness in his own eyes, "One week later we was gettin' ready to go on tour… packin'..." He paused, momentarily unable to keep speaking, the tragic memories of the past tightening his throat.

As if the sound of his dampened tone had actually called her name, Kayleigh emerged from whatever had her occupied in the back of the house. His granddaughter came in and sat on a wooden footstool, looking up at her grandfather, she took his hand in hers. Her presence seemed to give him the composure to continue.

"It was just a freak accident. Marilyn tripped over a suitcase and fell down those very stairs. Broke 'er neck. Died." He said, driving his pipe in the air angrily at the tall timber staircase in front of the front door. Mr. Wade had lived in that house and walked those steps all his life. Even now with arthritis and scoliosis hampering his stride, nothing hurt more than his heart when he climbed those risers and thought about Marilyn.

Shane turned to look at the ornately spindled staircase, it's walls decorated with family portraits overlooking the spot where Marilyn struck her head and never woke again. Rick couldn't bear to acknowledge that part of the room and his hand went clammy in his wife's grasp. The sadness in the room and her swelling emotion as of late, left Michonne no other option than to let her tears fall, though she smothered her whimpers in her pounding chest.

"She was in a coma for three days." Don said, "and yer daddy never left her side. Not once. Not for anythang. He prayed and wept but she died all the same. And again, like ya close a book and put it on a shelf, that was that." The old man wiped a tear from his eye and sniffled mournfully, patting his granddaughter's hand. Kayleigh had never seen him cry before. He always said he didn't think tears were useful. But they couldn't be stopped.

Rick pulled his wife closer, holding her tight through her unsteady breaths as she tried to gather herself. She accepted a tissue from his hand, "I'm sorry. Sorry you lost her… and in such a sudden way."

Michonne thought about when Morgan had passed. She'd had time to prepare herself. In the moment, watching him deteriorate in bed seemed like torture for them all, but maybe that time was a luxury. Morgan had time to put things in place, tell them the things he needed to say. When that final stroke took his memory and ability to talk, it was just enough to be there with him. There was nothing she wished she'd said; nothing she wished she'd heard from him.

"So that's how he ended up back with my… back with Florence?" Rick concluded.

Don nodded, "Ya needed a mother, son. Her baby needed a father. They was already husband and wife. It held long enough to grow you and yer brother into men. But I guess once you boys got settled in life, Gunner had had enough. Never saw him after he went back. Florence wouldn't allow nunna us to visit. She hated everyone of us in the band. Me most of all, I think. It was the end of Blue Ridge Journeys, too. Yer momma was the glue for a lot of people's lives."

The room went quiet while the dust settled over the turmoil of lives long-ended. Rick gestured to Shane for the photograph Rooster had given them. Finally studying the faces captured there. His mother's face still developing in his grandmother's womb. "Got more pictures of us growin' up and doin' shows. Pictures of yer momma and daddy together… happy. I suppose you should have them." Kaleigh ran to get the albums as their living archive added, "The day he swallowed them pills he called me. Hadn't heard from 'em in years. I had no idea what he was plannin' to do."

Don Walsh brought that conversation back in his mind as much as his seventy plus years would allow. It had been a surprise when he picked up the phone that day and heard that familiar voice-

" _Rooster?"_

" _Yeah. Who's this?"_

" _It's Gunner Grimes."_

" _Well, shit if it ain't!" Don immediately felt forty years younger at the sound of his old friend's voice. It was like no time at all had passed. "Can't hardly believe it! You limp dick turd!" he teased. "Florence lettin' ya out into the world again, boy? Now that you're too old to cause a ruckus? Or did it just take ya 40 years to climb outta your limp dick turd sorrow?"_

" _Neither, you asshole cork." Everett chuckled, like he used to decades ago when he was in a mood and his foulmouthed friend threatened to bring him out of it against his will. Time had ground down the formerly strapping man, but he was still easy on the eyes. He never lost his thick straight hair and had to keep it short and slick to maintain some sort of control over his gray mane. If Don could have seen Everett seated at his kitchen table, handsomely dressed in a dark blue suit, he may have known something was wrong. If he'd been less excited about hearing from his old partner, maybe he could have paid more attention to the finality in his tone when he said, "I just wanted… There's some thangs I wanna say… thangs I gotta confess. I figure why not talk to the hell-raisin'-ist son of a bitch sinner I know."_

" _My hell-raisin' days are over. I'm more'n halfway through my sittin' and nappin' days. And we both know what comes after that."_

 _Everett knew, indeed. He had been thinking about what comes "after" since Lyndi slipped away from him in that cold hospital, but it was earlier that week when he'd decided to speed up the clock for his own "after". He lost his smile as his thoughts descended into the layers of the past. "I wish I was a better man, Roo. I fucked up so much in my life. People won't never let ya forget the mistakes you make. My own accusin' thoughts. A small town, full'a small minds. A hateful woman who resented me before I ever gave 'er a reason to. … sometimes it's more than a man can take."_

" _Shit, I'd take a good old cussin' from my little Chippewa over this silence any day." Don remembered his raven-haired wife, her smile and her gentle touch, the fry bread she used to make for him._

" _I'm sure you would." Everett acknowledged. "Lulu was sweeter than cane. She wasn't nothin' like that dragon I married. I was sorry to hear she died."_

" _I'm sorry to hear Flo didn't." Everett spit his laughter into the air, caught off guard by the return of his buddy's razor wit. Rooster laughed too, more at his friend's reaction than the joke itself. "It's true, Gunner. If I woulda known ya before ya said I do, I woulda knocked some sense into ya...Hey… Hey... remember Lulu's sister?"_

" _Lulu's sister? Yeah… What was her name? Beaver? Hedgehog?" Everett tried to recall on a slow-motion trip to his piping hot cup of coffee waiting for him in the coffeemaker Dwight sent home for Christmas._

" _Squirrel! Morning Squirrel!"_

" _Right! Right! Squirrel…" He shook his head still baffled that someone would name anything squirrel, except a squirrel. "Damn, Indian names." He laughed, old and unaware that his words could be offensive since he meant no offense._

" _Coulda married 'er. Yeah. She was sweet on ya. She coulda helped ya raise that boy. She prob'ly would never let ya cut his hair, but she woulda been a good wife. It wouldn't have been like You and Lyndi…"_

" _No. It wouldn't have been like me and Lyndi. So what woulda been the point?"_

 _That comment irritated Don without warning and his voice came out more gruffly than he'd meant. "A little happiness, Gunner! Dammit!" He heard his own ire and shrank back, repeating himself with more affection. "Just a little happiness, s' all. Anyway… How's your boy?"_

" _What boy? Richard's a grown man… married now."_

" _Married?"_

" _That's right."_

" _They went and made you a grandpa yet?"_

" _Yeah. A boy named Carl. It ain't goin' good though. They miscarried the first time and, I hate to say it, but I always thought that mighta been for the best."_

" _Why's that?"_

" _I just get the feelin' that there ain't no... feelin' there. Not like me and Lyndi."_

" _Christ, Gunner, you gotta stop comparin' everythang and everybody to you and Lyndi. Maybe that was a dream. You know? All dreams end. Then we wake up and we gotta go live life. I done loved plenty women in my life, before, durin' and after Lulu. I ain't never seen no evidence that there's only one person out there for us. Sayin' people are meant to be together is just that- a sayin'. That kinda love don't really exist. Ya gotta know that as old as ya are. I mean, come on, man. On the one hand you beat yourself up about lovin' 'er. Then on the other, ya put that love on a pedestal that no one can touch. What's the point of that?_

 _Silence edged across the phone line until Don heard the faint sound of Everett's sobs. The man preaching reform tried to apologize but Rick's father wouldn't let him. Slamming his eyes shut, he stood there, his chest rising and falling like he'd been running- running from the past, running from the present, running from the truth, running from the lies. He pushed all the anger and disappointment down, knowing there was no point. Not without her and not without his son. Rick was off living his life now and he held out hope that he'd find a way to be happy somehow._

 _Withered hands that used to be so strong and fearsome moved on instinct, his knobby thumb cracked the knuckles of his crooked fingers one by one- a tick his son had inherited. One thing was certain, his example as a father was not the one to follow. He was a man disgraced in the eyes of most people. All the gossip-mongers who were so quick to point out that his infidelity saddled Florence with an unwanted bastard son were also quick to forget that Dwight was conceived while he was absent, engaging in such infidelity. Neither of them were innocent, yet Everett Grimes felt blessed beyond merit that he was honored to father the bastard he and Lyndi created together._

" _Richard. My son." he replied in a low, sure tone. "I guess that's the only point for any of it. And he's a man now. A good one too." Everett nodded at the truthfulness of his claim through his falling tears and swore, "I ain't never been prouder of nothin'."_

 _Emptiness, humiliation, regret. Everett Grimes had endured it for longer than he thought he could've, but he was tired now and ready to leave this life and go wherever Lyndi was waiting for him. He believed she was. Popping his medication a few at a time, like candy, he swallowed every pill in his prescription bottle. He sat there washing them down with his morning joe. He talked to Don, reminiscing on the short time he'd spent with them, conjuring up his lost love in his mind until he felt the effects of the little white tablets dissolving in his bloodstream. Then he said goodbye to one of his only friends in the world… and secretly, the world itself._

Don Wade sat in his living room with the son of Everett "Gunner" Grimes and his breathtaking wife. Along with Shane, their visit lasted hours until the day turned dark. Don watched the obvious love and trust between the happily married couple play out. The look of pure contentment when Michonne laid her head on Rick's strong shoulder. The gentle way he toyed with her fingers resting over his lap. The way Michonne teased Rick with the brightest smile. The way he seemed so happily hoodwinked by the gift of her mischievous smirking. The way they looked at one another with the need to care for and comfort. The way Shane beamed at their interactions with ultimate satisfaction, the way the seasoned soul observing them used to bless Everett and Marilyn with all his heart. He wasn't a highly educated man, but Don could diagnose the cause of their fever.

He felt a compelling need to acknowledge what he never had before. Both heartbroken and hopeful, he said, "When Lyndi died yer daddy told me he woulda put his Colt right to his head the moment 'er heart stopped beatin' if it wasn't for you, Richard. You were his pride and joy and the last piece of the love of his life. When they told me he died, I felt kinda regretful that I didn't get a chance to pay my respects but more than anythang, I was glad him and Lyndi was together again." He locked his fingers over his middle, his elbows resting on the arms of his favorite chair. "S'funny, ya know, ya don't recognize some thangs until ya see it for the second time and I never seen it before Gunner and Lyndi or since, til today."

"What's that, Rooster?" Rick asked, his voice heavy with curiosity and contemplation.

"Folks that's meant to be. Gunner was right. Such a thang exists."

* * *

A/N:

This was supposed to be a two chapter update but the next chapter got too long, so I split it. Hope you like.

-comewithnattah


	42. Chapter 42

Rick was still holding the old family photographs slackly in his hands, far away in his thoughts.

"You okay, man?" Shane's voice sounded muffled to him, Michonne's too, like underwater echoes.

"Hey, talk to me babe. What are you thinking?" Her hand came to his face, rubbing the stubble there with the back of her fingers as she sat beside him in the vinyl covered booth of the diner. A quaint little shoppe that probably looked exactly as it did in the 50's. Rooster and Kayleigh had offered them places at their table, but their guest declined, cautious not to overstay their welcome. They hadn't traveled more than five miles before Michonne pointed out their dinner spot.

Shane sat across from them. He felt bad about being excited that he'd found a piece of his family when Rick was dealing with a head-splitting revelation. Even though he had new pieces to fit in his own puzzle, all Shane could think about was how much Rick obviously looked like a Walsh. His newfound cousin looked more like a Walsh than he did, and Shane held an unconscious semi-smile, amused that he'd never noticed it before. The beefy brown-eyed man obviously had his granddaddy's nose, but the pictures proved Rick was all Anna.

"I'm just thinkin' 'bout you."

Michonne blinked in confusion, taken aback. "Me?"

"Tryin' to channel some of your strength. You never knew your mom and now I know I never knew mine. It's a strange feelin'. I don't know how to feel. Should I be sad?" He scratched his temple with the tip of his finger, still studying the picture. "Fuckin' relieved that my mother didn't hate me? Mad that the woman who raised me took out her jealousy on me when I didn't even know anythang about what happened." He scoffed, his emotions felt like cool, dirty water washing over him on a hot day. "Damn… should I pity my dad a little more or be even more pissed that he never told me? Your life has been so much harder than mine. How should I feel?" He turned to her now, his beach water blue eyes pleading.

Michonne didn't have an answer. It had taken her years to smother the anger. Truth be told she still had embers of anger blistering her psyche months ago when she showed her ass at Duncan's.

The man who took pride in knowing everything found out there was a whole part of himself that had been kept secret. Michonne noticed she was holding her breath again, as she had been unconsciously once Rooster took them all back 40 something years. She was holding her breath anticipating Rick's signature 'bottom-line take' on the situation that normally soothed her so much.

Like one quick conversation threw water on all her raging insecurities at a boutique dress fitting. Like hearing he was proud of her when she was feeling like a failure for being at her first prenatal appointment nearly three months into her pregnancy. Like the time they went to T-Dog's show and he had some things to say to her that he knew she wouldn't like, but after he'd said them she was even more in love.

Somehow, Michonne would have preferred for Rick to cry, lash out or even retreat into his thoughts to deal with this information. Instead, he was looking to her to be his compass when she usually felt as lost as anyone until he came into her life. He was _her_ north star. How could she get him through the tangle of his mind now?

She looked across the table to her brother, whose advice she always considered though his track record couldn't be compared to Rick's, but he only offered her wide eyes and a faint shrug. He stuffed his mouth with a few fries in an effort to seem too preoccupied to give an answer. She rolled her eyes, conveying her disappointment with his untimely uselessness.

"I don't know how you should feel, babe. If you have to ask me, you must not be feeling anything yet. And that's okay." She laid her unvetted thoughts on the table. "You must still be in shock."

"I know I am." Shane said emphatically through another bite of his burger. He chewed with gusto, shaking his head at the thought of his next words. Before he could continue, the hitting delivery of Ceelo Green's opening verse for "Fool for You" blasted Andrea's beckoning ringtone. "That's my baby momma." he announced as he clapped the salt from his fries off his fingers, happy to be relieved of his uncomfortable place in the sentimental conversation. He stood up smirking proudly as he left to take the call outside.

His wife would've been right there with them, but her morning sickness was still formidable and long car rides made it worse. Michonne watched as her brother's shoulders immediately slumped and she assumed whatever her best friend was telling him would send him back to the table fired up and cursing. Uninterested in their consistency to squabble, she looked back at Rick who seemed to be exhausted by the wheels turning in his head. She pushed aside her nearly empty plate of spaghetti and replaced it with her husband's plate of untouched steak. Reducing the T-bone to bite-sized pieces, she freely tested the 'bite-sizedness' of a few chunks here and there. It was prepared just the way he liked it, a simple boon after a complex day.

Chewing, a lot like Shane had been moments ago, she slid Rick's plate back to him as she advised, "I think once you talk to Florence, you'll be able to process it all." She forked the well-done nourishment and he allowed her to feed his body like the sight of her always fed his soul. Michonne was happy when she saw him lean back and close his eyes to savor the taste. Her face lit up a little to see him loosen the grip on his troubles and enjoy the perfectly seasoned piece of tender red meat. "I think she's the only one left who can give you a clear picture now." She beamed and closed her eyes with him, stretching to kiss his beef-flavored lips.

After a few moments of only diner sounds and contemplation, Rick put an arm around her lower back, resting his hands on her belly. Snuggling into her hair, close to her ear, he asked, "Chonne, would you do somethin' for me?"

"Mhmm." she replied, continuing to scrape her plate and casting a wandering eye to the standing dessert menu at the end of the table.

"Would you talk to my mom about this whole thang? I think you're right. I need to hear her side. But I just think it would be … I don't know... wrong for me to confront her about... 'bout somethin' like this, ya know?" A low sentimental scoff left his chest, "S' funny, ya know? I used to try to hate her. I felt like she hated me, but I couldn't bring myself to hate her back. I just always felt sorry for her. But I could never hate her. And I been thinkin', after my dad died she coulda forgotten about me. If she really hated me. We coulda just went our separate ways. But we didn't. That means somethin' don't it." He sighed, resting his chin on her shoulder like a little lost puppy.

"I think it does, babe."

"So, I don't want to be the one. I been thinkin' maybe she'd open up more talkin' to another woman. Maybe y'all can relate… you takin' bein' on a mother to Carl and all."

"Maybe so." Michonne acknowledged as she mentally settled on the blueberry pie over the cherry.

Rick continued an uncharacteristic ramble, "I just think, maybe it'd just be like a slap in the face if those kinda questions came from me… But I don't wanna put you in a tough situation either… I know she ain't your fav'rit. I can tell from the sound of your voice when y'all talk, she's still got some miles to go before she's in your good graces. But I… I just..."

Michonne turned and cut him off, "Babe." She replicated his famous head tilt and pursed her pretty full lips, "You don't have to convince me." She spoke gently with a hand to his cheek and she witnessed a rare moment when her husband's face went pink as he melted, completely vulnerable, under her loving gaze. She was surprised and touched by the way all this time traveling had given him a shier demeanor. He reminded her of Carl more than ever and aimed to make him smile. "I'll waterboard her if I have to." she giggled, and Rick joined her, shaking his head.

"I think you might waterboard 'er even if you didn't have to."

Michonne shrugged at his joke as though it might be a possibility and Rick chuckled harder as he opened his mouth to a fork of red potatoes. "But seriously, Rick. You're my husband." She said placing a reassuring hand on top of his. She waited for his eyes to reconnect with hers. "We're partners. You know how long I've wanted this? And I never thought it would be with someone as kind, caring and supportive as you. You taught me that's how this works- the two of us together. How could I not give you whatever you want, whenever you want it, babe?" His response was a subtle smile and, more telling, a long exhale that convinced her she'd convinced him. She went back to her sweet tooth driven thoughts. "Now," she said picking up the colorful menu of confections, "you wanna help me eat a piece of pie. I'm too full to eat a whole slice by myself."

Some minutes later, Rick was feeling content and amused as he watched Michonne polish off her second round of blueberry pie ala mode. The agreement was to share the dessert, but Rick had only managed a taste of the first slice and only a passing glance of the second. His wife was in the middle of a puffy-cheeked tirade on the inadequate size of the plated pie, when Shane came back to the table antsy.

"Hey, y'all ready to go? I paid the bill already, so we can go. Y'all ready?"

"Ev'rythang okay?" Rick asked, holding in a chuckle. He could see the marks from that 'pussy whip' all over Shane's face.

"Drea's fuckin' pissed. Said she didn't know we'd be gone all day and she's lonely and there's nuthin' on TV and somehow that's my fuckin' fault. So she wants me home…" Rick sipped his coffee, Michonne nodded but neither moved with any urgency. "Well c'mon! Y'all want me to keep my balls or what?!"

"You can keep 'em." Rick replied, speaking slowly, as he wiped his mouth with a napkin, crumpled it in his large hand and tossed it onto his dirty dish.

"Bubba, you gonna take the rest of this burger?"

"No, Mimi." he droned with irritation at her lustful eyes on his plate and her lack of hustle to leave.

"Can I have it?"

Cracking under the stress of Andrea's orders as though he was being called in by his superior, Shane snapped at his sister, "Yes, Mimi." He quickly snatched out some cash from his wallet for a tip. Michonne went for his plate but before she got it across the table, Shane grabbed up the sandwich and motioned for their soft-spoken, middle-aged waitress to bring a to-go container. "On second thought, Imma take this to Blondie."

Rick laughed as he stood up and helped Michonne out the booth. "Oh, is she openly eatin' meat now?"

"Nah, not openly. Imma take this home, leave it in the fridge and she'll tell me it fell on the floor when she was lookin' in the fridge or the smell of it was makin' her sick so she threw it away. But there ain't never no evidence in the trash, so I know where it goes."

"Wow." Michonne teased through a truly astonished expression. "A whole production, huh?... Okay. Take the burger to your closeted carnivore. I don't want it anyway."

"Thanks, Greedy McGobbles. I will."

"You guys need help, though."

"Says the girl who asked the waitress for a side of _relish_ for her spaghetti."

"Whatever, Bubba."

"Whatever, Mimi."

"Move. I need to pee." She snipped, pushing her brother aside with her palm to his face.

Shane sucked his teeth at her back. "Hurry up, Mimi. Damn." He whispered that last word, then turned to Rick, who was grinning again at their usual biting banter. "Why you got her spoiled like that, man? She's rotten."

"Me?" Rick asked in denial and Shane nodded his head. "Cut that out, Shane. She was like that when I found her and I'm looking at the man who did it."

"Whatever, Rick." Shane brushed off the blame and went back to the situation at hand. He tried to put on an agreeable face through his obvious unease as the seconds ticked by, keeping Andrea waiting. "Ya know. You should let me drive back, brother. We'll get there faster." He suggested hoping that, as another man under the tyrannical rule of a pregnant wife, Rick would take pity on him.

He threw a hand on Shane's shoulder as he passed him to go warm the car for his cold-natured wife. Rick knew the speed limit was only a suggestion as far as the writer in the trio was concerned. He prefered not getting pulled over by the cops tonight, especially now that he knew his roots. On a dubious chuckle, he decided there was no better response to such a far-fetched request than his wife's fanciful phraseology. "Crack is wack, brother."


	43. Chapter 43

"Hey, Mom." Michonne smiled weakly over the phone. It was still weird to call Florence mom like the older woman insisted. Michonne still felt a little fake using such a familial title with her, especially after the judgmental attitude her mother-in-law exhibited toward her right up until recently. Now the revelations of yesterday made it seem even more ridiculous.

"Michonne!" Florence called back with a cheeriness Michonne couldn't quite match. "How are you sweetheart, how'd your appointment go?"

"I'm bigger than I was yesterday," Michonne said jokingly as she looked down at her basketball-shaped belly. Her overstretched shirt had smears of paint across her big baby bump. It was hard for her to accomplish the right stroke sometimes being so far away from her canvas. The closer she got to her easel the more she realized she was painting her husband's borrowed t-shirt as much as she was painting the surface intended.

She had taken the morning off for this conversation and she was toying with the idea of a full day at home on the recommendation of her new assistant Aaron. The sweetheart of a man had taken to working with her like a fish to water. Where Michonne's concepts were lush and vibrant, Aaron's style was minimal and muted. But they realized they told the same story using different formats. They balanced each other out and Aaron always saw her vision easily, sometimes before she explained it. He could tell her vision, today had nothing to do with templates or color wheels so he suggested she stay home for the day.

Michonne enjoyed her half-naked state and a bite of sausage from her plate of cheesy omelet and sweet relish as she nodded, "I'm still doing well, though. Doctor Gabe had no concerns. He said I may even be able to deliver at the birthing center I'm doing so well."

"Oh, that makes me nervous, hun. Twins can be a dangerous business. I knew a girl when I was younger, she was pregnant with twins and she died from complications."

"Well, that's comforting." Michonne droned sarcastically as she flicked her filbert brush across her canvas with anxious energy. The deep gold jumped across a forest green. It was her plan to stay busy, painting, as a distraction from her nerves as she attempted to tiptoe into history with her mother-in-law.

"Well, I don't mean to scare you, dear. I just know that Rick would be inconsolable if anythang ever happened to you. I knew a man when I was younger who lost the girl he was gonna marry and he was never the same."

Now that they had a more conversational relationship, Michonne noticed that her mother-in-law always had some unidentifiable experience to back up whatever she was suggesting. After seeing Don Wade, though, Michonne wondered if Florence was referencing Rick's dad right now. Investigating as her husband's proxy, Michonne decided to take that as her opening.

"I just heard a similar story from a guy called Rooster. He was a friend of Rick's dad."

Florence was silenced immediately. "Do you remember him?" Florence didn't respond and Michonne almost let it go and changed the subject not wanting to pull anyone through an awkward painful past. But she remembered who she was doing this for and she would never let him down when he needed her. "Mom? Did you know a guy named Rooster? His real name was Don."

"Michonne…" Florence whispered with an audible dread, "Where's Richard?"

"He's at work."

"And Carl?"

"School."

Another moment of silence was almost interrupted by Michonne, but when she parted her lips to speak, Florence attempted a question, "How did you find Roo-" despite her curiosity, she shook her head at the pointless inquiry and opted to take this opportunity to tell her side of secrets that, apparently, had already been exposed. It had been a long time coming. Sometimes she fantasized that maybe she would stun her grandchildren with these deathbed revelations. But from the no-nonsense sound in Michonne's voice, Florence worried that her grandkids might not be there at her deathbed if she didn't come clean now.

When she woke up this morning in the finery of her independent living community, she hadn't expected to hear the name Don Wade. Much like she hadn't expected Rick to foot the bill for her to live in such a swanky resort-like village. She certainly could not have predicted the onset of the deep calm that came over her once she took a deep breath and asked, "What did Don tell you?"

"He told me about Rick's parents. Everett and Marilyn. He said..." Michonne tried to find the most tactful way to put it, "he said Everett wanted to be with her… that he wanted to divorce you."

"He did." Florence sighed as though she'd dropped some heavy load. "He did, Michonne. But not as much as I wanted to divorce him."

Michonne paused her work. "You wanted a divorce?"

"Probably ain't the story you was told, hmm?"

"Well, it just seems like... if you both wanted a divorce… then get a divorce." Michonne shrugged.

"That's your generation Michonne, not mine. Nowadays people say: Go on, do whatever you feel like. The world may have been headed in that direction when I married Everett, but it wasn't quite there yet. Good southern girls did what they were told." Florence made a brusque about face in her line of thought, her mind braking at Rick. "What's Richard sayin' bout it all? I always wondered if I should tell 'em."

"Rick says he wants to hear your side of things."

"Then can I ask why I'm speakin' to you and not Richard?

"He thought it might be in poor taste for your illegitimate son to grill you about your unfaithful husband."

Florence couldn't argue with that logic and she was, all of a sudden, grateful that the other person on this call was Michonne. "I know he was too young to remember what happened, but that boy has so much anger and sadness inside him… like it's imprinted on his soul. I came to his momma's funeral. I don't know why I did. I felt bad, I guess. Never wished her no harm, but I felt kinda guilty that her dyin' brought Everett back home." Florence spoke easily to Michonne. Her unhaulting words came out with a nonchalance that seemed wrong for such a heavy subject. "I held Richard in his little blue suit and bowtie while his daddy broke down as they lowered her body into the ground and Richard's expression seemed so... attentive… to all the sadness around him. Like a little sponge, absorbin' it all. I used to worry for him so. But as he grew, I saw there was so much love in 'em. He's so full of love. Maybe that's what happens when soulmates create life together? He always just wanted to love and be loved in return. But I couldn't give him that. It's shameful to admit, but I just couldn't. I did my best most of the time. But what can I say? I wasn't never a doter, or warm or sentimental. Motherhood, marriage... I never wanted that life."

Michonne creaked into her jewel covered phone, whispering like she could hide through this interrogation. "What happened? How'd you end up..."

Florence cut her off and began the tale, tired of beating around the bush. "Before I married Everett, I fell in love with Rachel Shaw." Michonne's mouth hung open when her straightlaced mother-in-law named a woman as the target of her affection. She almost asked her to repeat it, though she'd heard _Rachel_ loud and clear. Florence said it so casually, the woman asking the question barely had time to form a mental picture as the story unraveled without a pause. "Rachel wasn't nothin' special. But she took a liking to me and I decided to try and fall in love, just to see if I could, I guess. It wasn't the first time I liked a girl, but it was the first time I ever had a girlfriend. I had the kind of parents who, aside from being old fashioned, were just old. My daddy wanted me married to quiet the rumors about me. My momma wanted me married because she thought all a girl could ever need or want was a white weddin' and a few kids. At least she was thinkin' bout my happiness. Anyway, Rachel's parents, my parents- they conspired to separate us. Sent Rachel off to a convent. Married me off to Everett who lived a few towns over."

Michonne's empathetic heart was already in pieces. "So, this was after you lost the baby girl?"

"What baby girl?" Florence asked truly confused, until she remembered that baby girl was first dreamed up in her own panicked mind. "There never was a baby girl." she confessed. "Everett found a letter I was writin' to Rachel once. A letter about how much I loved her, how much I wished I could see her again, how I couldn't be happy without her… I was doin' everythang I'd ever seen lovers do in a movie, hoping maybe this was love." Florence couldn't help give the faintest mocking chuckle, "You know how gullible men are, Michonne. When Everett asked me about the letter, I thought quick on my feet and made up a stillborn baby that I named Rachel. My whole life was a lie back then, it didn't bother me to fabricate in the least. I told him that I'd write my stillborn daughter a letter each year on her birthday and he believed me without a second thought."

Michonne felt a little peeved that Florence would lie about something so serious. It struck her even closer to home as she felt Steak and Relish roll around in her womb. "He believed it enough to tell Rick. He told him that you lost a baby and that's why you were so…"

"Miserable?" Florence suggested comically, having no real qualms about her overall behavior.

""I guess…" Michonne shook her head, suppressing her natural reaction to laugh at her mother-in-law's calloused candidness. It was almost like talking to Andrea. "But... so, there never was a baby?"

"I've never let a man touch me in my life." Florence said proudly.

"But Dwight?"

"Dwight got here the way so many children have. My sweet boy came from an ugly act." So many years had passed since Florence experienced the violation of that night. It affected her deeply but for her there were easily much worse things she'd overcome. It was just another disappointment that served only to calcify an already clotted heart. "When Everett was off writin' lyrics and makin' plans with Marilyn Walsh, I was livin' my life as well. I was out galavantin' with a young lady by the name of Esther Weems, a beautiful angel- much too beautiful and kind to take pity on the likes of me. But, somehow, I caught her eye. We were always together me, her and her brother. Kinda like you and your brother wrap yourselves around that vulgar Andrea." Florence grimaced, thinking about the one person in Michonne's life that matched the old widow toe to toe.

Michonne again found herself tickled at Florence's cool estimation. "If that's the case, you would be Andrea in your little illustration." she pointed out.

"And I was a lot like her, though you're nowhere near as sweet as Esther was," she said bluntly as was her way, "and your brother, despite his run-ins with the law, could never be the monster Roger Weems was."

"He assaulted you… sexually?"

"Rape, we called it back then. Just plain old rape." Florence said with hardly a quiver in her voice. "He took me home after I got sick at a party. Esther was passed out drunk in the car and Roger helped me into my house. He knew Everett was never there. I've always been taller than average, stronger than average for a girl but a man in the midst of a carnal… craze is a beast women in my time weren't trained to tame."

"Is that why Rick teaches self-defense. You told him what happened to you?"

"No, Rick is just a good man." Florence offered solidly. "I never told no one. Not the police, not Esther, not even Everett."

"You couldn't get an abortion?" Michonne asked, feeling a brief wave of nausea at the delicate question.

"Ain't no abortin' what's meant to be, I guess. You saw those scars on his face? Ev'ry time I look at him it reminds me...:" Florence's voice broke for the first time since she began this session of confession. "...it reminds me what I did to 'em. I tried to do it myself with a saline injection. That was worse than the rape. I nearly killed myself. Dwight hung on, determined to get here and bless his heart, he's the best thang I ever got outta life. Wish I coulda done better by 'em." The unwilling mother said. "Anyway, when the abortion didn't take, I knew I had to go to Everett."

"Well how did you explain your pregnancy to him?"

"Explain?" the older woman scoffed outright. "His guilt put him in no position to question me. I found out where he'd been spendin' his time. In my hometown with a pretty little singer named Marilyn Walsh and I couldn't find a piece of me that cared. I hoped he'd stay gone. But being pregnant... and weak from tryin' to get rid of it… I needed Everett back. I went to Rooster's house that day and to tell _my husband,"_ she emphasized with an air of entitlement that Michonne couldn't deny her,"I was pregnant and he needed to come home. All he knew was that the baby I carried wasn't his, just like the blue-eyed boy in Marilyn's arms wasn't mine. We just left it alone. We left each other alone and still managed to always be there for each other. Our relationship ended like it started out- two lonely people who were never meant to be. When he took those pills, he put us both out of our misery. He was a good enough man. He never spoke a bad word to me. He loved our boys. He took the brunt of the gossip that came with the mess we'd made of our lives and shielded me from disgrace. We were partners. Not like you and Richard, but we made it a long time with resentments and regrets."

"How? Why?" Michonne's beautiful face contorted as she struggled to understand. Florence sounded proud of their disastrous union and the happily married woman couldn't reconcile that with everything she'd learned.

"Well, it's not because we were perfect." Florence stopped to formulate a response that only she and her late husband could've really understood. "It's because… well, I guess it's because we were flawed. We made mistakes but underneath the shortcomin's and tears we found respect and trust. I could trust Everett to take care of his family. He could trust me to take care of him." Florence said, confidently. "We never had a sexual relationship, even though, as his wife, he could've presumed to make demands. And I never presumed to try and fill the role of Richard's mother wholeheartedly, because I knew that, even though Marilyn Walsh was dead and gone, she was a ghost in my house, livin' in my husband's heart and mind. It hurt a little that he would never love me the same way. But I also admired him for bein' able to love like that at all… I never held no one in my heart like that." the stony senior acknowledged. "So, I trusted him when he decided he was ready to go to her. He'd kept all his promises to me. And when a friend of mine found him overdosed at the kitchen table and called the ambulance, the doctors tried what they could but ultimately when they approached me to make a final decision, I knew he had trusted me to do right by him. And I did. Richard never understood it. Maybe you can, Michonne."

"Not yet…" tears made uneven treks down her face as she responded, "but I guess it's not for me to understand." She hoped Rick would understand it now with all available sides of history exhumed. The recognition that these' truths were for her husband, sparked another question in her mind. She felt personally entitled to the answer and with all the honesty Florence had offered, Michonne had to know, "When Rick brought me to meet you that first time, why didn't you give me a chance. Why didn't you like me... or even try? Is it because I'm black? Because Marilyn was black… Did you know that?"

It took Florence a few moments to reply. For once in the whole conversation she needed a moment to catch up and connect some dots. "No." she finally said. "Who told you that? Rooster?"

"Yeah. Both her parents were black." Michonne provided.

"Hm." Florence ruminated. "Michonne, I may be a lot of thangs but a racist ain't one of them. I got enough reasons to hate people without needin' to add the color of their skin." said Florence, taking offense. "I didn't know she was black. I stood face to face with her and I would have never guessed. But if I had known, I doubt it would have me think of her any diff'rent. I remember her in school. She was a darlin', a few grades behind me. Smart. She won the school spelling bee every year. And she grew up to be a beautiful woman, with a beautiful voice and she must've had a beautiful soul… more beautiful than mine, I'm sure, from the way she stood there and let me rant in her livin' room. She saw me off to the bus depot and gave me a rain slicker and a pair of her boots, cuz it was rainin' buckets that day. If the shoe was on the other foot, I would've let her drown."

Michonne laughed through a sniffle, "Well, why didn't you like me then? Was it my hair… my clothes. You didn't know me, but you made up your mind. Must've been something you could see."

"It was. Those little shorts and tiny top sure ain't earn you no points in my book." Michonne rolled her eyes and Florence continued, "But it was more 'n that. I saw the way Richard looked at you. He was completely smitten. When you pulled up in my driveway, I saw the way he handled you... like the finest china. How he looked at you like you were all he wanted. Part of it was jealousy, I can admit. But I could see, even though you loved him too, you weren't ready for love like that. I could see you were gonna hurt him. But I guess I was wrong."

"No, you weren't wrong. I did hurt him." She confirmed with some of the same forthright inflection her mother-in-law had been using. Having always written Florence off as a gray-haired bitter Betty, she was surprised by the woman's intuitive estimation of her. Michonne put her brush and palette to the side, unable to settle back into her work knowing she had been under such a powerful microscope at the time. Still, proud of herself, she answered back, "He forgave me, though. I wasn't ready. But I got ready. I couldn't lose a man like that."

"You would've been a loss too, dear. I'm woman enough to admit it. You're a good woman, Michonne. To be honest, I should be more like you. I'm better than I used to be… but I can be an old bitch, no two ways about it."

The two women laughed together at that indisputable truth. "You aren't all bad. I see how much you love Carl. I hope you'll be that kind of grandma to these babies." Michonne's words took her in another direction before Florence could say she would. "But I'm curious, now. What about Lori? You never had any bad feelings about her?"

"Oh, Michonne!" Florence groaned, and her southern inflection thickened "Of course. Of course, I did. But, Lori always reminded me of Rachel. Plain in a way that made me kinda pensive, I guess... that long brown hair and those empty eyes. Then she miscarried, and we bonded through that tragedy. Besides Rick was havin' a hard time with losin' that pregnancy, too. Then when she had Carl, he must've gotten cold feet about fatherhood. I don't know what all happened there, but she was all alone. I felt bad for her."

Michonne shook her head as she listened to Florence sympathize with Lori over a lie. She wanted to tell her mother-in-law the truth. That Lori never was pregnant. That she lied to get Rick to marry her. That she deliberately got pregnant, knowing he didn't want kids with her. But again, Michonne had made a promise to her husband. No matter how satisfying it would be, she wouldn't betray his trust. But the petty in her couldn't pass up the opportunity to point out Lori's recent misdeeds. Those were no secret. "What do you think about her marrying this guy she barely knows and leaving Carl to move out of the country? That's crazy, right?"

"You know, it really is Michonne." Florence agreed while Michonne grinned wickedly on the other end of the phone. "If I'm being honest, I always thought Carl was just a pawn to her… a way to keep a thumb on Rick. Some women dream about bein' mothers but they don't really know what bein' a mother means. I used to encourage Richard to try and make it work with her. Figured maybe she'd be a better mom if she could concentrate on Carl 'steada tryin'a make Richard love her. But, lord knows I can't criticize nobody's motherin'." Rick's mom conceded. "Lookin' back, Carl spent more time with me and Lori's sister than he did with her." Florence had a moment of clarity getting to know her first daughter-in-law over the years. "Maybe that was Lori's real problem, she was always competin' with her sister for 'happiest little family'."

"Guess she lost that game, too." Michonne murmured to herself thinking of all the ways Lori fell flat on her face with Rick, Shane, Carl and now even Florence. She wondered if Lori ever thought about that day in the mall parking lot. Up until then, Michonne had made an effort to excuse much of Lori's behavior. But after that day, when her babies were at risk, the protective mother decided some people were just poison. There was a time when she thought of herself that way, maybe she had been once upon a time, but actually knowing a human being that low gave her some perspective. It numbed any trace of principled goodwill she wished for Rick's ex-wife.

"Hm? What was that dear?"

"Oh, nothing." Michonne deflected, "Just… I hope Lori gets everything she deserves."

Rick stood in the shower, his palms braced against the white tile wall. He strained to hear the relaxing sound of his wife speaking over the pressurized spray of hot water beating over his muscled body. Even as she reached the end of the secondhand saga, he was still preoccupied with being amazed and grateful for her. He had expected she would get around to grilling his mother at some point. He didn't think she would dive right in the next day. As much as everything she told him was overloading his brain, she was at the center of it all like the eye of the storm giving him peace.

It was because of her kindness that all these things even came to light. She was the one who insisted that the prickly old woman stay in town after their wedding until her rheumatism subsided. She was the one willing to brave an on-coming snowstorm to get Florence back to the comforts of her own home once she was better. She was the one to allow the formerly obstinate woman a change of heart and accept her olive branch without conditions or mandates, which led to an environment of communication and, ultimately, loose lips. She was the one who came back offering the rest of him. Things he never knew he missed.

She was sitting at her vanity, her back to the mirror, with a bowl of ice cream. She'd tossed and turned, unable to sleep, with a mind full of news for her husband. When Rick walked into their bedroom, he expected to see Jimmy Fallon talking to her snoring figure wrapped in the sheets. Instead, she'd been talking since he crossed the threshold, proud of herself for coming through for the man she adored.

"She asked me if you were gonna tell Carl. I said I didn't know. I think she's a little worried about it. He's already been somewhat standoffish when it comes to her." Michonne relayed, smacking her lips as she sucked a dollop of Cherry Garcia on her tongue. "She says he's become as protective of me as you are. She thinks he's still upset about the way she treated me before."

Rick stopped the shower and Michonne set her bowl on her makeup table and crossed the bathroom with his towel in her hand. "Maybe." Rick allowed. He wouldn't force Carl past his feelings so long as his son stayed respectful. "If so, that's her bed to lay in." He looked down at his wife as she moved the heavy, plush towel over his head, then directed him in a 360 to dry his back. She was concentrating solely on getting him dry. His mind, however, was focused on the soft banks of black cherry breasts stuffed into her red gauzy bra that was nearly a cup too small.

Rick's eyes were peeled. He licked his lips as he watched her perfect brow lift and her full dark lips press together and peel apart, "Qui sème le vent récolte la tempête." Michonne mumbled to herself.

"What's that? Her husband stood motionless, save from the jostling of his body by the firm rubbing across his damp skin. He inclined his head a bit to hear her better and got a whiff of her freshly washed and maintenanced locs. The aroma of lime and coconut floated past his nose and his head rose with the absolute rise of his chest on a deep inhale. Breathing her in was the best part of his day and the day was almost over. He loved her so much it wasn't odd for him to forget to breathe, but when he remembered he was gifted with her delicious, dreamy scent.

"Oh, something Aaron taught me." She said proudly. "I taught him about petty spaghetti and he's teaching me his favorite petty sayings in French. He said somethings burn a bitch better in French." Michonne giggled at the wit of her new cultured friend as she made her way to Rick's shoulders with the towel. He remained still, though his lips curled at the corners seeing her delight in sharpening her tongue with another language.

"What's it mean?"

"It means 'who sows the wind reaps the whirlwind'." The towel was now at his bulky chest, Michonne was still working diligently on the moisture beading his pecs and abdomen.

"I don't really know if I could take that mouth of yours bilingual." He said, humor mingled in his deep register.

She looked up at him just as the towel in her hands reached his Adonis belt and her forearm brushed against his warm, blushed erection. Michonne's brown eyes went heavy as she looked into his hypnotic blues. "I would only use my mouth for good when it comes to you."

"Promise?" He asked pouring all is magic stare on her. He took a step toward her, cock bouncing lightly against her smooth firm belly and she stepped back. Eyes on his. She retreated again when he repeated his advance. Eyes on hers. The pad of his thumb, still wet, connected with those lips and she tilted her head back and closed her eyes in anticipation of his kiss. "Promise?" He repeated more sternly, and he was answered with an immediate blind nod.

His lips landed gently on hers, sucking in her fleshy bottom lip and ending with a hungry bite. Michonne gave way to his tongue and she readily met him with every sweeping motion of his warm, skilled mouth. The back of her knees reached the little velvet cushioned stool and she took a seat in front of him.

She pulled his stiffened sex into her palm, planting light kisses all along his shaft and slicking her lips with the tip's dripping potion. He hadn't said much about what she'd told him. Somehow, that information seemed to be on a backburner now as lust set all his features to stone. Looking up into his handsome work weary face, she felt a stimulating urge to give him whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it.

She had told him that before, but it wasn't until this moment that she understood how primal that predisposition was for her. It was a long way from her old relationships where her mind was set on pleasing Michonne. Now, it pleased her to please him. Of all the revelations of the past two days, realizing that surprised her the most.

"Let me show you." she whispered over his pulsing length. "You're so beautiful, Rick." She was speaking of the man he was on the inside as much as she was speaking of all the gorgeous delights that made him a man on the outside, like the hardened batch of abs her fingertips were trailing. "You're so big and beautiful, baby. Can I taste you? Can I show you?" she said so timidly, he swayed a little on his long, parted legs.

The hair on his neck stood as straight as his long thick member being nuzzled by the tip of her nose and caressed by the curve of her cheek. All the care she lavished on him had to be reciprocated and he was charged by the look in her crystal copper eyes in a worshipful upward gaze. Rick remembered the days before Michonne when he would come home exhausted and fall asleep on the couch in a heap. Now, he was working harder, a little older, a little grayer but more virile than he'd ever been. He thought maybe he'd found his own personal fountain of youth in his precious wife.

On a slow, telling lick of his lips, Rick tugged at her chin to bring her closer and eased himself into her waiting mouth. Michonne's eyes rolled back as inch after inch slid along the bed of her tongue, the perfect pressure from her concaved cheeks creating a warm wet vacuum that brought a simultaneous hum of enjoyment from her and a dense moan of indulgence from him.

Rick realized he only _thought_ he was tired from standing and walking the arena all day, but when he saw his velvet skinned wife he remembered he couldn't be tired, not now. He remembered he had reached his prime the day he met her. He smirked as he realized she was turning back the clock for him. She made every moment their forever. Of all the flashes of light he'd seen in the past two days, this one shined the brightest in his mind: He was solely preoccupied with their future, not the past.

"C'mere." He pulled her up from her seat intent on a new settlement for his glistening dick. "You know, your brother thinks I spoil you." he said, his voice burning like whiskey. He turned his wife to face the mirror, smoothed his heavy hands down her bare chocolate arms and placed her palms face down on her makeup table. He caught her stare in the reflection as he pressed his hellbent hardon against her soft backside. Passing a hand lightly up her inner thigh, she was overcome by her want of him. The feel of him so close to her sex made her drop her head on a shaky exhale. "Look at me, 'Chonne." she complied, eyes hooded, breath hitching, "Know what I think?"

Michonne shook her head, her straight, unstyled locks swaying across her scarlet bra straps. He pulled them gently to one side and spoke along the lines of her neck and shoulder.

"I think _you_ got _me_ spoiled rotten." Rick splayed a palm across her thigh, kneading her flesh with an indelicate grip. He looked down at the dip of her arched back that rose and spread out to the wideness of her utterly engrossing ass. "All this is for me." Rubbing her belly in a circular motion, cherishing the life within, he declared, "These are mine." He unclasped her bra, freeing the payload of her soft, healthy breasts and filling his hoggish hands. "These are mine. This…" Leaving a nipple pinched between his thumb and forefinger, he plunged his other hand under the swell of her stomach and strummed the pulse intensifying at her clit. Michonne whimpered to his unending pleasure. A finger breached her slit, just one, but he knew exactly where to send it while the hard plane of his wrist kept her bud in panic mode.

"Damn, you're so wet." he breathed, and the corner of his lips curled mischievously when he asked the question her jerking body answered when he first made contact with her skin, "That feel good?"

"Mmm... Yesss…"

"You're spoilin' me 'Chonne." He said in a sharpened tone. His prismatic blues drank in the art of her face in the mirror as her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth relaxed. "That look on your face… that's mine too. Fuck! Yeah… I'm spoiled."

Michonne shook her head. There were words she wanted to say, and she chased them down over her building orgasm. "You… you… do… you… sp… spoil me. You spoil me. You spoil me. You spoil me." She chanted, as her hand slipped on the smooth surface of the table. Transferring her weight from her hands to her forearms, she crossed her wrists lazily on the vanity and let her forehead fall overtop of them- spent. Rick was stroking her back through her intense inhales and her extended exhales as her pussy dripped from his attention. Pulling his fist along the length of his eager, steely cock, he placed himself at her entrance. His large, round tip pushing past her hot, swollen lips. She shuddered as his charged girth stretched her so divinely, tears glossed her deep amber eyes.

Fully seated inside the crush of her silky, wet walls, he gave her one forceful thrust as a preview to his purpose. His wife rewarded him with a startled shrill that left her hips rolling desperately, as she committed her claimed canal to bring him as deep as she could take him.

Rick used both his hands to gather her locks and wrapped them tightly around his hand, raising her head from its resting pose. Her vision still spotty and her ears still ringing from her quick but powerful climax, she barely made him out in the mirror when he promised, "I ain't begun to spoil you yet."


	44. Chapter 44

**A/N: These next three chapters all take place on the same day. Thanks for still being interested in this story. I know it's been a while since my last update but I literally work on this story everyday. So please don't feel neglected. It just takes me a while to get it the way I want it. Thanks for your patience, guys.**

 **-comewithnattah**

* * *

Michonne sat wide-legged from the weight of her belly on a cowhide-cushioned wooden stool fashioned from a tree stump. A housewarming present from her well-traveled employee, it was designed to look second-hand, but it was custom-made for her by one of Aaron's friends. In honor of the cowboy and city girl's first official home together, Michonne had found her muse to be a horse-riding graffiti artist who squaredanced to Outkast.

The painting she created in honor of her mother was given a prominent spot in the vestibule. The bedrooms upstairs were given priority for completion and had been done within the first week after they signed the deed. The common areas were still works in progress, though, since much of the furniture delivery had been delayed thanks to a spring storm flooding areas in the Midwest. But Michonne was tracking the freight every step of the way and slowly big boxes, crates and cellophane wrapped items started trickling in. Her most anticipated piece was set to arrive today. Finally.

Michonne smiled as the arched windows filled the room with streams of light and bathed the living room in gold. It was nearly complete thanks to her chosen family. Her brothers, sister and best friend skipped the shindig at Merle's to help her finish as much of the 5,079 square ft. house as possible.

Her last check up revealed that she was 3 centimeters dilated, fully effaced and the babies were positioned just right. The news from Miss Viv had Rick excited and relieved, especially since the whole incident between him and Dr. Gabe would've made the need for the OB's services very… awkward for everyone. Thankfully, their mid-wife had a sweet-spot for Rick and wouldn't hold a grudge over her son's busted lip. The Grimes' kept that wild debacle quiet, but they happily relayed the news to Florence that everything was moving along without a single hitch, since she'd been driving him mad with horror stories about birthing multiples.

But the same news that had her husband elated, kept Michonne right on the edge of a panic attack most days. Rick could tell she was stressed but Abe, Carol and Deanna all assured him that it was normal for her to become anxious the closer she got to her her due date. Her anxiety flared at the thought of not having their new home set and ready for their twins. She kept having nightmares that things wouldn't be ready before she gave birth.

Last night she dreamt Child Protective Services crashed through the windows of her new home in SWAT gear. Glass was everywhere. Spotlights from an airborne chopper nearly blinded her as the violent winds from the bird's blades whipped her hair around her face. The team, masked and all in black, pushed her up against the wall to put her in cuffs.

Her crime? A lopsidedly hung piece of artwork in the nursery. Pictures were taken of the crooked gold frame as evidence and the white light of camera flashes burned her retina as she begged for mercy.

Carl was being manhandled and Rick was tased when he tried to intervene. To her horror, Shane jumped from her closet like Tony Montana with two sub-machine guns and was met with a hail of bullets, leaving him a riddled corpse slumped under her hangered sundresses. Michonne sprang awake with her heart in her throat and her mouth desert dry.

Needless to say, her quest for perfection kept her up at night. But she wouldn't tell Rick that she was affected so much. The last thing she needed was him restricting her work around the house.

She took advantage of Rick's work schedule to do way more physical work than he would have allowed. But her quiet-kept exertions backfired when she woke up that morning barely able to stand without pain. Her boxes of painting supplies where just a little heavier than she'd thought or maybe she had carried one too many while her guys were at work and school. Either way she couldn't hide the hobble that now accompanied her wobble and Rick had all but prescribed her a butt-whooping and put her on bed rest.

It took a million promises and some serious eyelash batting to get him to leave and go to Merle's. In the end, he left out of obligation to Maggie since he'd promised to help her with the guests on the farm. But only on the condition that Shane _and_ Tyreese came to stand in for him as his sneaky, determined and demanding wife's laborers and babysitters.

When her brothers showed up with Andrea, Michonne nearly cried at her best friend's unexpected arrival. Then Sasha came a little later with Belly. Carl and Enid were working on the baby's room. Meanwhile, in the big bright kitchen, Deanna was stocking the pantry and organizing the newlywed's wedding gifts as Michonne opened them.

Belly's constant slobbery gibberish was becoming background noise now as she ran her teething ring across her itchy gums, smiling at the relief. She kicked her little dimpled legs and squealed every time her crazy Auntie made a funny face at her. From the battery powered swing where she was being rocked, butter brown eyes were fixed on the most visibly pregnant woman in the room. The final Ford was just waiting to be sent into another fit of hearty, gut busting giggles by the sight of Michonne's tongue darting playfully from between her lips or a silly scrunched face or the intermittent tickle to her ribs from oval shaped white polished nails.

"Thanks Little Big Sis." Michonne smiled calling Sasha the nickname that stuck after Michonne helped her through one of the hardest decisions in her life. The former cadet was older but there were times, like that one in the clinic, when the little sister became the big one. Their mutual affection always strengthened one another and the reciprocal support they shared sometimes blurred the lines of who was taking care of who.

Sasha carefully descended the ladder Tyreese was holding steady and her incapacitated sister apologized to her again. "I know it's killing you not being there to show up all the guys with your 'hit-girl expertise.' You're a real one for doing some rare domestic work for your Big Little sis."

It seemed Michonne was the beneficiary of their bond today, as she admired the symmetry of her new cream sheer curtains spilling from just below the half moon of the window frame's arch. The rich shine of the metallic gold geometric design kept the possible prying eyes on the sidewalk from seeing into her domicile without the fabric being too heavy for the season. Sasha dropped her eyes from her handiwork, whipping her head in Michonne's direction.

"Bubba, Ty, y'all hear this bullshit?" she said, taking offense. "This ain't the first time I hung drapes, you know, Mimi."

"Yeah. She's way off. You're a regular little homemaker." Shane commented sarcastically and rolled his eyes.

"Didn't you cover your windows with fitted bed sheets in your first apartment, Sash?" Tyreese asked innocently.

"Oh… okay. Fuck all three of y'all. You see how she treat the free help, Blondie?" Sasha said, trying to rally a little aid from Andrea. The blond stayed silent, though, only offering a smile under a skeptical raise of her brow. Andrea was still a little shook from the Thanksgiving scolding she got from the tiny commando with the oversized afro-puff.

Michonne caught Tyreese's eye and they shared a chuckle watching Sasha prove true their constant criticism of her overbearing demeanor. "I'm just saying I know this is all love. You choosing to help me instead of going to Merle's is equivalent to a big hug and kiss from you. Even Maggie left me hanging to go be G.I. Jane."

"Well, be fair sis. It is her husband's birthday." Tyreese petitioned on Maggie's behalf. "She's the one who put the whole day together."

Michonne was unimpressed. She wouldn't give any credence to the unmistakable notion that her irritation was heightened by the torturous pain in her back because she was determined to conquer it with a little mind over matter. She shooed away her brother's legitimate point with a wave of her hand,

"She's been going with Rick to shoot for months. It's not like it's her first time." She heard herself say. She tried to get ahead of the flak she saw coming from the looks on everyone's faces, "I know y'all are gonna say it's the hormones talking. Maybe it is. But, damn, even Jessie came for a little while and unpacked a few boxes. We're all meeting up for Glenn's birthday dinner later anyway."

No one in the room challenge her, afraid to make her cry and more afraid that Rick would find out she cried anything but happy tears on their watch. "Well don't be too upset, Mimi. You know Maggie loves you."

"I'm not upset. I love her too. I can't wait to see her tonight." She said, her attitude completely flipping to a more sentimental tone at Tyreese's reminder. A memory of a long-legged brown-haired little girl in acid washed jeans and ruffled socks, slipping dandelions into her spongy mess of hair on a sunny day unfurled in Michonne's mind and took the sting out of her voice. She leaned backward on the stool, pressing her palms into her lower back to alleviate some pressure from her strained muscles. "Don't mind me guys. Maybe it is the hormones." She conceded, wincing at the pain radiating across her hips.

"You sure you're gonna make it tonight?" Shane looked at her, trying to disguise his concern and keep his tone light. "How's your back?" He called back over his shoulder as he took in a large white paper bag of gifted crystalware into the kitchen for Deana to put away.

"Still hurts, but I'm not gonna miss our boy's birthday because of some back pain. I can't believe I hurt my back lifting those little boxes! I was being so careful, lifting with my knees." She turned to the baby girl beside her and scratched lightly at the little tummy under a pink camo cotton onesie. Michonne twisted her face, finishing her defense with a smile and a cheerful, babyish lilt that was only for Anabelle's amusement. "Awl dat! Wight Bewie? You know your Unkie Wick went insane. Didn't he, puddin'? Yesh, he did. Yesh, he did."

"Can't say I blame him." Shane came back with a piece of Deana's sandwich plumping his jaw. "You're hard-headed as hell, Mimi. Just like your buddy over there." He pointed to his wife, who had fallen asleep caressed by Rick's new leather recliner in the space of two minutes. She was curled up around a pillow, her feet tucked under her and her cheek squished against the arm of the only actual chair in the room.

Shane's disciplinary inflection must have activated any number of Andrea's cached defiant retorts. She broke her open mouthed snore and mumbled to no one in particular with her eyes still closed. "Nobody tells me what to do."

Everyone in the room sputtered a bit of stifled laughter, careful not to wake her. Michonne continued, her voice just a smidge lower, but with the same indignance, "But you know how your cousin gets, Bubba." Shane's favorite sister said. Whenever Rick put his foot down, she loved to give him back to Shane and change his title from her husband to _his_ cousin. Shane laughed every time she gave Rick back to the Walshes, separating him from her new last name. "He's been acting like I fell off a damn roof or something! He made me swear on my locs that I'd be good just to get him out of here today." She shook her head, exaggerating how put upon she felt. "I'm surprised he hasn't been texting me every two minutes to check on me."

"That's 'cuz he been textin' me." Shane said, checking his phone for any new messages.

"And me." Sasha and Tyreese said at the same time and looked at each other in shocked disbelief at the jinx. Just as Andrea snuggled up to her pillow and added,

"And me."

"And me." Carl's voice came from the baby monitor on the floor beside Michonne. He startled her and she excitedly picked up the white screen displaying his face and a bit of the monochrome room behind him.

"Yay! You got it working!" Michonne cheered, beaming at the digital image as she sat the monitor on a nearby box. "Thanks Son Number One. Get down here so I can hug you."

"Enid did most of it." He confessed looking back at his girlfriend who smile shyly behind him.

"Okay. Both of you get down here so me, Steak and Relish can hug you. Come on!"

Carl looked dumbfounded, "You really want us to come all the way downstairs for a hug?

"Yes. I want you to come _all the way down here_ for a hug. Pretend you're hiking." She clapped. "Let's go!"

Deanna was quiet, surrounded by the sunflower yellow walls and dove gray cabinets, she illuminated her phone screen to see if Rick had enlisted her to keep an eye on his wife as well, but there were no incoming messages from him. She called from the large butcher block island to the woman of the house, confused as to why she'd been left out of his spy pool, "Hey, Michonne, Rick knows I can see text mails on my new phone, right? I have the smiley faces and the moving pictures and everything..."

* * *

Michonne collected her hugs and kisses from her son and his girlfriend. They had endured the relentless spoofing of young love from the adults and took off to roam the streets with roller skates hanging around their necks. Since Carl moved from the suburbs, he loved to take advantage of all the culture and chaos he found on city sidewalks. Now that summer was close enough to taste, open air markets, street performers, and the lush green sections of downtown parks seemed like another world that he never got to experience thanks to Lori's fear of inner-city crime.

There was something to be said for the big open sky, corn fields and treehouses of the rural landscape where he grew up, Carl had to admit. But once it was said, the reality was that skates don't work on a gravel road and a group of mix-matched pedestrians at a bus stop was infinitely more interesting than the obligatory wave to Harlan and Neil as their tires spit dust from the same kind of rusted red pick up that nine out of ten bumpkins drove like it was a county issue. When his father first moved in with Michonne and he'd come to visit she'd take them to all her favorite spots and now they were Carl's favorite, too.

The little marina where you could rent a two-seater paddle boat for eight bucks an hour was the lovebirds destination to race through the tall lamp poles on their skates and buy overpriced snow cones. As much as Carl lamented his father's 'dad-ness' and Shane's 'cad-ness', he found himself searching his Walsh DNA for that unadulterated swag that Michonne always said he was blessed with. The day was perfect and he was working up the nerve to kiss Enid.

But, even with his mother's advice not to rush it and her reminder of the importance of breath checks, the Grimes in him was overthinking the whole idea. Should he keep his eyes open or closed? Should he make his move while they were sitting or standing? And where in the world should his hands go?

"How's he doing?" Tyreese asked after the teenage lovebirds step out into the sun and closed the door behind them.

"Honestly, he's doing fine from what I can tell." Michonne said with a shrug. "How does he seem to you?"

"Carl is a lot like Rick. That young man has a lot of self-control but he says what he means and he doesn't stop himself from feeling how he feels. That's something most of my adult clients struggle to do."

It did not surprise Michonne to hear that her son was a mature, level-headed young man. Still she felt for him having to deal with the ups and downs of Lori's drama and she worried about him holding in his frustrations. She didn't want her son, who also happened to be one of her best friends, to be eaten up with resentment like she used to be. She was waiting for the other shoe to drop after Lori called Carl with apologies and news after months of silence.

Coincidentally, when she called a few days ago, they were standing in the house Rick had bought for her and Carl to live in. Carl was sorting and packing up the remaining things in his old room with Michonne while Daryl packed the things the young man decided to keep in the back of the family SUV. Michonne couldn't help but scrutinize the place her son had called home for years. It was a bland kind of decor, costly but lacking any character or joy. Just like Lori, she thought.

Hired movers were busy about the property, clearing out every trace of Lori. The house was his, free and clear, and Rick intended to take advantage of the current buyer's market. He and Jessie were in the kitchen discussing possible upgrades for resale, when his work phone rang with an unfamiliar number. Lori no longer had Rick's private number so she had to google the company website and get in touch with him like any other stranger on the street.

Rick eyed Michonne as he stood in the threshold to his son's room with his cell lit up in his hand and she knew only one person on the planet could give Rick's face an instant gloom like that. It was the same kind of gloom that had been eating at Carl for the past hour. Since he'd come back from Lori's room with a particular baby picture of him and his grandfather that he wanted Michonne to see. He left the room happy enough but had come back looking completely out of sorts.

Michonne imagined, despite his assurances that he was fine, that the act of packing up his childhood bedroom was proving more conflicting than he thought it would be. It was the only thing she could account for his sudden change in mood. After all, that day had started out with them blasting Big Boi and Andre 3000 and what Michonne liked to called a "health nut heart attack breakfast" of wildly buttered waffles soaked in syrup and lip-shining bacon. The health nut part of the meal could be found in the sparse leaves of spinach she added to the cheesy scrambled eggs.

Rick announced it was Lori calling and Carl stood in front of his closet, not even turning in the direction of the phone. Michonne had watched her son's expression carefully as the entire exchange played out over the speaker.

"Honey, it's so good to hear your voice!" Lori said plenty cheerful. "Sorry I haven't called before now. Things have been kind of crazy with me."

Carl didn't respond.

"School okay?"

"Yes."

"The year flew by! When is your last day?"

He gave her a fatigued sigh. "Couple weeks."

Lori waited a few beats expecting him to say more or offer a little more excitement but when the silence from him grew awkward, she continued, "Well, you can call me now. I gave your dad the number. I'm back in the states for the next few months. Nevada actually. It's really a beautiful place. I'm in a program here. " The tempo of her voice fell as she confessed, "I had a little trouble, Carl. I, um, did something I always told you not to. I started… well, son, l... I'm having a little issue with… with addiction."

She almost didn't say it. She felt like she was talking about someone else. Something that used to be her favorite pastime- gossiping about other people. Florence and her sister, Leslie being her usual co-conspirators, she loved to talk about who was rushing into a relationship, who was a bad mother or which of her fellow stay-at-home moms got sloshed before noon. Now, it was her. Now, she was the fool, the sorry excuse for a mother, the one strung out.

Carl didn't say anything in response to her confession, prompting her to fill the void. "I hope you're doing okay, sweetie. I get so nervous about you living in that disgusting city." She recalled all the black men she saw on the streets the day she rode through the city with Negan. Whether they had on business suits, work uniforms or sagging jeans, they all sent a chill down her spine. "It's so dangerous for a kid like you. Drug dealers on every corner…"

"Don't worry about me. I'm not stupid enough to touch drugs."

Lori felt that shade in her soul and Michonne took a deep breath to avoid setting her straight on the issue of Carl's safety with his family in the city. But Rick, still standing in the doorway, rolled his eyes at his ex-wife's ideas about their neighborhood and shook his head, signaling his wife to let it go when he saw her face twisted and ready with a fiery retort.

"That's good, Carl. That's good. I just wanted to let you know that… that I'm getting help now. Negan sent me to the best place money could buy. You know, we've had our ups and downs. That's just a part of marriage, I guess. I'm sure you see your dad and Michonne get upset with each other…"

"Nope."

"Well, maybe they don't let you know that they're upset. But trust me they do." An unhappy Rick and Michonne was one of Lori's favorite daydreams. But if Carl wouldn't give it any life, she packed it away for herself before the make-believe picture became too hazy. "Anyway, things are getting better between Negan and me. I'm getting better. I have to now... because… I'm pregnant!" Her cheerful presentation of the news fell dead in the silence.

Carl took a deep breath. Rick could tell his son was weighing some major decision in his mind. Rick smiled at him in reassurance that whatever he was contemplating regarding Lori and the news of a new sister or brother, none of the people in that room would be disappointed in him. "Do you know what it is yet?"

"Not yet. It's a little early to know." Pleased that he was finally participating in the conversation, Lori's smile could be heard through the phone. She continued in a playfully melodic voice, "Would you want a brother or a sister?"

"I'm already getting both," he said tersely. "What I meant was, do you know if it's a real baby or one you made up to ruin people's lives."

"What?" Lori's voice was shakier than a drunk on stilts. Michonne covered her mouth with both hands under her shock-wide eyes. Daryl looked equally bowled over and Rick's brow creased when he looked to his wife, the only other person on earth who he'd told about Lori's deceit. He didn't think she would have betrayed his trust and told their son anything about it, but maybe she knew how he'd come upon such a deeply buried secret.

Before Rick could ask anything, his son was naming his source. "I found the letter you wrote to dad about me. He wasn't talking to you when you got pregnant with me. So you had to write him a letter," he scoffed.

"Carl…" Lori tried to interrupt.

He swiped his long chestnut hair to the side and pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and began to open it.

Rick was playing catch up, "Where'd you…"

"I found it in a box when I was looking for that picture of me and grandpa." Without further ado, he dropped his eyes and read the words Lori had scribbled through tears nearly 16 years ago.

"Dear Rick, I know you're upset, but avoiding me won't fix anything. This is our chance to make things right."

Lori's heart stopped. "Wait, Carl. Let me explain…"

"I don't blame you for hating me," he continued determinedly. "Lying to you was the worst thing I've ever done. I know you think I'm not sorry about that, but I am. I just felt like I was running out of time with you and I knew a baby would make you stay. But this time it's real. We made something together and it's an opportunity for us to start over. You said you didn't want to bring a baby into this mess. We'll one's coming. I know you're not the kind of man who would abandon a child. I know you don't hate me. This baby will prove it. We're going to be a family. I know you like to be in control of things, but some things aren't up to us. Some things are just meant to be. I'm not going to give up on us."

Carl stopped reading before he got to the closing line and her name. It would have left a bad taste in his mouth. He ripped the letter in half and then again and again. "If you _are_ pregnant I feel sorry for that kid. Having you as a mother without a dad like mine is gonna be hell. But at least I guess _you_ finally realized, it's true, some things ain't up to you." His agitation forced his father's twang off his tongue through his pain as the power of his words heaved his chest. Michonne and Rick stood silent both trying to acclimate such an angry tremor from their perpetually even-toned teen. "Like, I'm done with you. You don't ever need to call me again because you have run out of time with me. I'm not letting you use me to get to him anymore. This is an opportunity for me to start over and have a real family, with a real mother. She always tells me 'be your daddy's son'. So I will. Good luck with all your karma."

When Carl finished speaking, Rick looked down at his phone screen. "Well… uh," he stammered still processing. He remembered that letter. It was on the basement door of the house they shared before the divorce. He never even touched it. He just let it hang there and promised himself he wouldn't let her dictate his life. Eventually, even though it was exactly what she wanted, he decided his hate for her wouldn't keep him from his son. If it did, that would have been tantamount to leaving his life in her hands all over again.

He didn't know why she'd kept the letter. He would have had her committed if he only knew how she used to read those words to herself like the manifesto of a homegrown terrorist whenever it seemed like he'd forgotten about her. Whenever she felt compelled to employ a little mayhem to keep herself sharp in his mind. Lori saved herself any further embarrassment and saved Rick the trouble of having to come up with any parting words. The call's time counter disappeared from his phone screen, leaving the words CALL ENDED lit up like Christmas as the most fitting metaphor.

After that final straw, Michonne asked her big brother Tyreese to put his psychology degree to work and spend some time talking to her son. The good doctor could read a bit of sadness in Carl, but it seemed to be more about being the weapon Lori used against his father for so long. Michonne tried to hear what her brother was telling her,

"Abandonment will stunt emotional growth over time. The longer we feel that loss, the deeper out distrust and resentment runs." Tyreese explained in hopes to assuage any of her worries. "But I really dont think Carl ever has the opportunity to wallow in loss as long as we did growing up, Sis. He's got you, his dad, me, Daryl… He's got a whole Carol in his corner!" Michonne laughed.

"What about me?" Sasha barked with a crumpled face. "Auntie Sash? Hello?"

"Yes. Aunt Sash," he amended. And before Shane can get any words out of his parting lips Tyreese rolled his eyes and added, " _And_ Uncle Shane."

"Technically, _Cousin_ Shane." Andrea contributed from her sleepy haze.

"My point is, he's got so many people to fill up any holes left by Lori, you can rest assured he's growing like an emotionally stable weed."

She took a deep breath and her back twisted with an ache that was unreal. She smiled through it, more concerned with her precious white son than she was with that annoying pulled muscle. "Ok. I trust you, Doc. Once again, your check is in the mail."

"I'm always here for you guys, Mimi… unless you need me to talk to him about the birds and the bees." Tyreese raised a brow and chucked his thumb to the door Carl had followed Enid through. "Y'all are on your own with that."

"Birds and the bees?" Shane sounded off, indignant. "Carl has the blood of a Walsh in his veins. It ain't birds and bees when it comes to us, it's lions and tigers and bears!" He beat his chest like a silverback. "I knocked Andrea up like the week after she stopped the pill. It took you and Rick a little longer, Mimi, but when my cousin finally got in the game, he hit a damn double."

Michonne's eyes widened when her brother's words sank in. "Shit!" She said, thinking of how close Carl and Enid seemed to be getting. Her heart dropped at the thought of any 'home runs' between those two. "Maybe we should go get them and have this talk _right now._ "


	45. Chapter 45

Abraham Ford stood with Rick and Merle under the shade of a hundred year old tree on the eldest Dixon's fifteen acre poultry farm that he'd inherited from his grandfather. Thanks to Merle's unrepentant neglect, the place was well past it's glory days. Still, if you wanted to experience a genuine backwoods setting, the place where Dixon Chicken had gotten its start and went belly-up was as good a place as any.

The sweet smell of decomposing leaves mixed with gunsmoke carried on the breeze, the creaking of fallen twigs underfoot, the honking of waterfowl on his pond, the husky panting of his pack of scraggly canines lazing about in the sun, the sound of traffic so foreign here, that squirrels still scattered when company called could make anybody feel like a 'good ol' boy.'

The father of four held his youngest son, Duke, slumped and slobbering on his shoulder. The above average temperature of the beautiful spring day had the toddler's crown beaded with perspiration and the fine pumpkin-colored edges of his unruly mop, curled and stuck to his face. Still wearing his soundproof earplugs, the little guy was oblivious to the constant bang and rat-a-tat around him.

Every now and then Abe sent his eyes over to the only coop still in use, where Ali, antisocial as ever, played with the little yellow, peeping balls of down freshly hatched a week ago. As Abraham and Sasha's oldest, A.J. was familiar with firearms and had taken it upon himself to run bullets and bark orders like his mother would have done if she were there.

Abe had led Rick away from the clearing where Merle had built a rough-hewn wooden canopy to practice shooting toward a massive wall of earth retained with 4x4's. The big guy was pushing himself to air his concern over their current situation working for Jadis. The property's owner followed his co-workers for a little amusement, already piecing together what Abraham's whispered complaint involved. Abe bristled at Merle's presence, suggesting that he keep his focus on the crowd of people milling about his land.

To Merle's mind, however, the assembly of his rough and tumble colleagues like Tara and her team, Carol, and his little brother needed no supervision around his wooded, home-made gun range. And he was content to leave those new to gunplay under Rick and Maggie's charge. He knew Rick was steady enough to explain safety and technique to the inexperienced firing squad of dweebs that had descended on his sprawling estate for Glenn's birthday.

The crude redneck had developed a certain sense of respect for the naturally genteel yet increasing gangster of the "chinaman's" wife, as she'd been coming regularly with Rick as an apprentice sharp-shooter. With little regard to his authority in his own house and before Rick could intervene, Maggie had promised to neuter Merle with her nail file if he didn't watch his mouth around her on her very first visit there nearly a year ago. Michonne's new boyfriend had more than laughed at her break from prim and proper to put his old grade school tormentor in his place. Since then, the green-eyed brunette and the mutt-faced louse had, very slowly, built an unprecedented and fluctuating mutual cordiality. At times, they teetered on the edge of friendship. She was the one who had paid to have the place spruced up and refreshments provided for a select number of Glenn's gaming cohorts who engaged in digital combat daily, but had never actually touched a real gun.

Rosita's man, Terry was there looking like he'd crawl behind enemy lines in the midst of so many white guys yee-hawing with live ammunition. He had expected Michonne's 'brotha' brother to be there. The only guy in pristine old school Jordan's, Terry had spotted Karen but her boyfriend,Tyreese, was nowhere in sight. Other plus-one's included Denise and Tobin, Diane's brother. Eugene showed up but spent more time with his fingers on the controls for his drone than he spent pulling triggers. Even Richard was there, a former marine who bonded with Abe on a mission in Kabul.

As god-awful and fubar as that operation was, Abraham would've preferred those sweltering days hiding out in the unforgiving rockhills of the desert to working for Jadis, especially with Sasha usually in walkie range. There's danger and then there's _danger_. Jadis was on the verge of the latter. He took a deep breath, half frustration, half embarrassment,

"Boss, I can cover anything else. I'm just saying if Sasha finds out about this, it's gonna get out of control real fast."

"Just tell me what happened," Rick said calmly, taking another swig of his beer.

Merle grinned, folding his arms over his chest and leaned against his truck. "Yeah. Tell 'em, you strip-waxed pussy," he said, coming up with the brand new insult organically, as if by divine favor.

Abraham rolled his eyes at Merle, resisting the urge to hand Rick his son and tackle the prick to the ground. He took a deep breath and parted his mouth to speak just as Abe Junior ran up. "Hey Unk, Glenn keeps closing his eyes with the kick," he said, throwing a thumb behind him to the line of shooters.

Rick looked up to see Maggie wrapped around her husband's back, arms level and stretched with his, trying to help him lineup his sights. "What's he shootin' with?"

"Gloc 19."

"Okay. Give 'em the Sig."

"That's what I told him." The little man sucked his teeth in vindication, proven right by the word of his cool Uncle Rick. "On it." He turned around, jogging slightly to carry out his orders.

Rick chuckled to himself and watched A.J. scamper off. He couldn't help wondering if Steak would be a little soldier like the chubby cornrowed tyke or a superhero-obsessed casanova like Carl… or maybe he'd be a little outcast like Ali. Rick couldn't wait to find out. But right now there was something else he needed to find out. He turned back to Big Abe and asked,

"So, what happened?"

"Okay, boss. It's like this." Abe confessed from under his auburn moustache, "Jadis touched Emperor Wang…"

Rick's face pinched in confusion, "Who?"

"Come on, man…" the big guy pointed at his crotch with his free hand, "Willie Johnson… the Boloney Pony…

Merle snorted a laugh and felt obliged to add, "Colonel Gherkin…"

Abe shared a laughed and returned in kind. "Friar Tuck…"

"The Old Hallelujah Pipe Organ.."

"The Old Cum Gun…" Abe said after peeking at his shoulder to make sure Duke was still asleep.

Merle grinned, as though accepting a challenge, he threw his chin with confidence, "The Old Yogurt Slinger."

Rick could see he was all but forgotten in their duet of phallic tags. The two men giggled like ten year olds until their employer cleared his throat, prompting Abe to do the same and straighten up. Merle continued a quiet chuckle into his jar of homemade moonshine when Rick deadpanned, "You were saying?"

Abraham began again, "Our client tried to jerk me off in her dressing room."

Rick looked at Abe, then Merle, then back at Abe. "When was this?" He said, running a hand down his face. Considering he had a new house to pay for and twins on the way, he recognized that he should be loving the money coming in. His company's name was getting out there, his whole operation was being upgraded and he was able to pay his people more than other well-known security firms. Despite it all he was beginning to wonder if it was all worth the trouble.

Jadis was a pain in the ass. Her fanbase was mostly weirdos who dressed like they were on their way to Thunderdome and imitated the broken way she spoke English due to her eastern European background. She made a couple mainstream tracks for radio play, since her usual content had gotten her music banned in her country and was just as controversial in the states. Most of her songs encouraged self-harm. Her more recent pop songs were the same only much more subtle. Unless you were a 'junkie' (what her fans collectively call themselves) from day one, you wouldn't know why her music was so polarizing.

But Rick knew because that's his job. Her latest hit song "All the Pretty Roses" seemed harmless enough, like a love song. But, with a closer look at the lyrics, it's easily decipherable as a song about suicide.

As much as Rick had to prepare for the possibility of a psycho fan rushing the stage, the harder part was keeping his client safe from the protesters that basically camped out in front of the coliseum where she was contracted to perform for another two months. Dixon/Grimes was under a contract too and Rick was counting down the days, while still trying his best to be grateful that Jadis' stay in the city meant he could stay in the city, close to his family at this delicate time.

The musician had her own personal, bodyguard as many do. But alone Jared could hardly patrol an entire arena or secure the route from her hotel to the stage. Her manager Gregory was a dick. When Rick asked him about rumors that Jadis was a nymphomaniac and a cutter, Greg seemed to think it didn't matter to the job.

Rick quickly made it clear that as security it was his job to keep the client, any client, from harm. It made no difference if the threat was an improperly hung stage light, a delusional admirer or a violent sexual partner… Rick had to be ready for anything as long as he was on the clock.

He had even _expected_ her to come onto his team. He already knew Merle had found his way inside the thoroughly trafficked underworld in her underwear, but Rick played along as long as it didn't interfere with operations. Yes, it was messy professionally, but he could always count on Merle to be Merle.

His best friend's brother was good at his job, but also the biggest hound on the planet. He never saw him turn down pussy, no matter how yuck-worthy. But Rick figured that could be a plus. At least he knew Merle would still be mentally dotting his I's and crossing his T's, even while dipping his pen in the company ink.

What Rick didn't count on was Jadis tiring of the self-proclaimed "King of Cunt" so quickly. Or maybe she was just more… ambidextrous than he would've imagined.

Merle spit in the dirt at his feet for no apparent reason and teased, "I tol' em pussy don't bite."

"But crabs do." Abraham countered in disgust. "And Sasha'll bite. She'll take a chunk outta my ass…"

"What does she know?" Rick jumped to the heart of the matter.

"Nothin'. Obviously, since I'm partyin' with Glenn and not at a kegger with the father, son and holy ghost, man."

"So just don't tell'er," was Merle's idea.

"Merle." Abraham addressed the womanizing miscreant with a somber tone, "How many years you been married? None," he spit out the answer to his own question. "What do you know about anything? Nothing. The last thing I need is advice from you. I thought you were bangin' er anyway. Why's she reaching for my Jolly Roger? Yours don't satisfy?"

Rick took the focus off of Merle's tongue-tied response to that question. "Look Abe, I know you're on a slippery slope here. But I really do appreciate you pickin' up the slack for me while we're countin' down to the twins. I'm bein' stretched thin, man. I need eyes on'er every second. Now she went and hurt'er back… and these babies are comin' in hot." Rick shook his head with sincerity. "I need to be there with her, man. Maybe I can pull somebody offa Daryl's team to help out here. But, Abe, just give me another few weeks. She's gonna pop soon. I'll owe you big."

Wiping at the moisture pooling over his eye, Abraham shifted nervously. Tempted to tell Rick about his infidelities years ago to explain why this would be more serious than a little harmless flirting in Sasha's eyes, Abe let out a deep sigh. Opting to trust his brother-in-law's talent to handle things, he hung his head and nodded his compliance. "I need you to have my back if this thing turns into a shit sandwich, boss. I already feel like I'm walking through the valley of the shadow of death just by not telling her what happened."

"I know, Abe." Rick chuckled at the look of dread on the big guy's face. He clapped the on-duty dad's shoulder to reassure him, "I got your back, brother."

Suddenly startled by a tug on his pant's leg, Abe looked down to see Ali standing right behind him. Abraham looked at Rick with eyes that asked how long his son had been standing there with them. Rick shrugged, not having noticed the little boy with the gentlemanly crew cut until now. The last thing Abe needed was one of his kids mentioning anything about this to his wife.

Fortunately Ali was not a talker. So it took his father a moment to comprehend the tugs on his pant's leg were a signal for him to bend over and lend his second-born son an ear. Duke was still passed out on his shoulder as Abe squatted, very curious and somewhat nervous, to hear what Ali had to say.

"What's up, bud?"

Ali looked at Rick with an expression that read 'mind your business', so his uncle walked away and gave them some privacy.

"I picked these for you to give to mommy, if you're scared that she might be mad at you," the little boy whispered in his dad's ear. He pulled a bunch of unevenly plucked wildflowers from behind his back.

"Thanks son." Abraham grinned as he looked over the colorful helping hand from his introspective little one.

"And if mommy kills you, then..." Ali thought of an alternative, continuing to whisper on his tiptoes, "I can put them on your grave."

The spoken possibility stole the sentimental smile from Abe's face and filled his lines with apprehension. He wouldn't lie to the boy and say it couldn't happen.

"Thanks son," was his only reply.

Rick tipped back his beer as he walked off into the sun. He had been somewhat hidden in the shade and between the cars parked on the grass patches growing out of the red earth under his feet. His phone rang and Deanna's first and last name appeared in all caps on the screen.

He swiped to answer the call so quickly, the phone didn't read the command. The second time the call connected and Rick's heart was racing. "Hello? What's wrong Roe?"

"Nothing's wrong. Everything's fine."

"Okay. Good." He took a breath and relaxed a little. "What's up?"

Maggie spotted Rick from a distance, "Hey, Rick! Come show'em the tricks you do with your Colt!" She yelled, pushing her voice through her cupped hands.

Rick acknowledged her with a smile, a nod and a raised finger to indicate he'd be there in a moment. He turned his attention back to Deanna, "What's going on?"

"Did you know I was with your wife today?"

"Yeah. You were there when I left, Ro."

"Okay. Just reminding you." Rick waited through a pregnant pause, before she said more. "Oh! And my smartphone has the smiley faces and the little moving pictures… the what do you call them?"

"Gifs."

"Yes. The gifs. I have those. If you need something." Deanna hinted.

From her tone he could tell she was trying to tell him something. Rick creased his brow trying to figure out what it could be. "Okay. Well, I'll see ya later."

"Or just text me." She said and gave him a syrupy laugh that could have qualified as a wink had they been face to face.

"Yup."


	46. Chapter 46

Glenn was given two choices in life. Become a veterinarian like his mom or franchise his uncle's restaurant, _Little Happy Rhee_ , after college. But he secretly changed his major and was offered a job at the gaming company the same day he walked across the stage in his cap and gown. No one in the family thought he'd ever be a big success, not even him. Growing up, all he ever wanted to do was play video games.

He was Starfox Glenn. He was Pro Skater Glenn. He was Smash Brothers Glenn. And when his parents weren't home, he was Mortal Kombat Glenn. But, now, here he was on his 30th birthday as the youngest Senior Software Developer at _COdE Corp._ , surrounded by colleagues, most of whom he outranked.

His proud family now included his gorgeous wife, a little older than he was and far more cultured. But she knew how to brighten his horizons with her sweetness. She showed him there was a world outside of the virtual one he lived in. The pixelated Glenn was becoming more and more of a flesh and blood man thanks to Maggie. She made him a better man everyday and he knew he could never repay her. He now sat at a table in his uncle's establishment with her and their closest friends, truly a "Little Happy Rhee".

The calming ambiance of high gloss lavender paint, nearly opaline from the blue glow of neon tubing running in artfully chaotic diagonals along the walls was inviting. The deftly polished epoxy floors and stainless steel cylindrical ventilation shafts hanging from the ceiling above a long line of tables gave the feel of being on a spaceship, but the white leather bench seats across from the matching cushioned chairs made the sleek lines more cozy than one might expect.

Banchan, small dishes of communal fare, were apportioned across the black lacquer of the tabletop. Held in shallow white bowls, the authentic edibles popped visually as much as the spicy, sweet and acidic flavors tantalized the tongue. Beef neck, sesame oil, ginger, kimchi, miso, spicy noodles, lettuce leaves, spinach, bean sprouts and a dozen other offerings were being devoured by the festive bunch.

Rick watched Michonne disappear around a corner as he sat surrounded by all his favorite people in the world.

"She annoys me. I love her, but she really annoys me." Sasha sighed with her elbows on the table as she tore another piece from the short rib between her teeth.

"She's adorable. I really love that dress." Karen gushed for maybe the fifth time about Michonne's low-cut, off the shoulder jersey maxi. The soft pink color looked like raspberry sherbert against her smooth dark skin. She blushed at the implications of her next statement when Tyreese caught her eye. "I hope I can be that put together if I ever get pregnant."

"She's nothing but stomach. And look at me…" Andrea complained puffing her cheeks behind her pursed lips to exaggerate her chubbier than normal face.

"I love your jowls, Chub Muffin." Shane pinched her rosy cheek in a good-natured tease. He was only half joking. Her morning sickness had only been gone about a month but in that short time she had gained a good 15 pounds. She looked 20 pounds heavier factoring in the compulsory pregnancy spread.

Shane was surprised to find that he liked the extra meatiness on her shoulders and back. The way her chin went double when she laughed made him want to bite her and he did, more often than not. He was practicing strenuous self control in front of their friends, keeping his choppers away from her blush pink skin as she chafed at his new nickname for her.

"Jowls? Really?"

"Yeah. You know, the loose, fleshy part…" He poked at her chin and innocently started with the definition as if her offense to the word was due to her misunderstanding the meaning.

"I know what it means, Bookhead!" Andrea bit back before the wordy man beside her could move on to synonyms. "I'm gonna chub your muffin!" She threatened.

"Well, damn, baby I hope so." Shane replied wickedly turning her warning into an x-rated proposition and the whole table erupted at their antics. Even Andrea had to laugh through a roll of her eyes, caught off guard by his charming wit and wiggling brow.

"At least you're still pregnant!" Sasha rebuked the blond, cheerily, while taking some of the heat off her brother. "Belly is already 6 months old and I'm still confined to these spanxs. After the boys, I was back in my bikini before they could sit up."

Abraham spoke up, " That's only 'cuz you're older babe." He said hoping to cheer her up by rationalizing her lingering weight.

"Oh, so I'm old _and_ fat?" She responded, eyes and neck rolling in her husband's direction. She sat her chin in the palm of her hand, leaning over her elbow daring him to finish with a ominous raised brow. Abe immediately went silent and reached for his water, bringing it to his lips as he stared off like he had never uttered a word. The carrot-topped soldier was nothing if not well-trained and his survival skills were honed to perfection. He pumped his brakes, reading that look of hers easier than a stop sign.

"I think what the guys are saying is that you're all beautiful and they're still somewhat stupefied that it's their privilege to remind you of that everyday." Glenn said raising a glass to toast the women around him and the other men followed suit.

"Look ma," Glenn called to his mother who was standing nearby conversing with one of his aunts. "I'm one of the cool kids," he joked knowing she'd barely be able to hear him over the music and chatter.

Still, the five foot two Korean transplant, sporting blonde highlights over a cocoa brown layer cut, nodded with a happy smile, excited by whatever seemed to be pleasing her only child. It was Mi-Sun Rhee's everlasting delight to dote on her sweetheart of a son. Her sisters had five kids between them. But her son was better than them all.

He was always a good boy, respectful. As she looked around the dining room tonight, she felt lucky to have such an excellent son. So successful with such a beautiful wife. The only thing her sisters could hold over her head was her lack of grandchildren, but Mi-Sun wasn't worried.

She served her unsuspecting daughter-in-law red ginseng tea every time they came to visit. She even started taking Maggie for acupuncture every month. She told her it was for more energy and heightened brain function. That was true enough, but Mother Rhee left out the part about activating those fertility pressure points.

"Awww." Sasha cooed, touched by the toast and a little looser from the rice wine. The birthday boy was already her favorite guy of the evening for having an adult party since the majority of the birthdays Mrs. Ford attended included too much whining and not enough wine. Her second favorite guy was Carl, who babysat cheap. Sasha backhanded her man across his bicep, "Why can't you be sweet like Glenn?"

Abe tossed Glenn a scowl, "Come on kid, you're making the rest of us look bad."

The young man raised his hands in surrender, but before he could apologize, Tyreese leaned over the table past his girlfriend, past Michonne's empty chair, past Rick to meet Sasha's eyes. "Honestly, between the two of you, I'd say Abe is the sweet one." Tyreese was feeling a buzz as well from the unreadable brand of Korean beer sweating next to his arm on the table.

"Don't come for me, Blankey. You need to be worrying about keeping that pretty lady beside you distracted from the fact that you got no neck." Sasha jested, pointing at Karen.

Everyone at the table groaned, trying to swallow any laughter at the loveable big guy's expense. They all failed and snorts and spit-takes played out around the table.

"I'm telling Mimi as soon as she comes back," Tyreese threatened Sasha with an embarrassed grin, through his own impending chuckle.

"Speakin' of…" Shane looked back, past the tables, toward the bathrooms. "You don't think she fell in, do ya?"

"She's been feelin' kinda iffy all day," Rick said as he pushed his chair back from the large rectangular table. "Let me go check on her."

As soon as he stood up, a shrill scream for help came from a member of the kitchen staff. Rick snapped around to the panicked shout, adrenaline racing through his veins. He scolded himself for letting his wife come out tonight. His jaw went tight as his instinct told him that the commotion concerned her in someway. He promised himself, in vain, not to give in to her pouts against his better judgement ever again.

People nearest the tiny, purple vest-clad employee were huddled around the entrance to the restrooms. Rick was excusing himself, making his way through the crowd as his breathing went thin.

"Get a doctor!"

"Call 9 1 1!"

"Mi-Sun!"

"Rick! Rick Grimes!"

The frantic overlapping voices coming from the chaos a few feet in front of him, depleted all Rick's manners and he started handily shoving the onlookers out of the way. The table where he'd been sitting with family and friends was completely abandoned as they all briskly followed him to the out of sight situation.

"Michonne!" he called for her but still couldn't see her or hear her yet. He thought back to the phone call he'd gotten months ago when she fainted on the frozen black pavement of a mall parking lot. If it hadn't been for Daryl and Carol calming his nerves, he would have gone insane from worry.

This time, he didn't get that sinking feeling in his gut. He was able to keep his composure a little better, knowing there was only a few steps between them; not hundreds of miles. Instead of being afraid of what could be wrong, he was just anxious to get to her and employ all the methods of aid at his disposal.

Suddenly, he heard a sharp, foreign yelp. He crossed the threshold of the white tiled bathroom and stood within the warm mahogany walls. He went speechless when he saw Michonne in a wide-legged crouch under the dim yellow lights. The long skirts of her pretty dress were hiked up in the front, bunched into her lap. She was holding onto the sink with one hand and a naked, wet newborn clutched to her chest with the other. The little baby barely moved, except for the uncontrolled head bobs that accompanied every intermittent declarative cry.

One end of the pale blue umbilical cord disappeared between the pasty pink and dark chocolate press of mother and child; the other end hung from the lip of the sink where Mi-Sun had placed the placenta on a layer of paper towels. A puddle of amniotic fluid pooled at her feet and covered her studded flat Louboutin sandals. Michonne was kissing the baby's slick brown curls while Glenn's mom tried to check the baby over.

"Where's Rick?" She asked anyone in earshot through exhausted huffing breaths.

"Right here." He said calmly, almost absentmindedly - dazed. All his confidence drained as his feet carried him forward, though he put no thought into his movements. He felt like someone on a rollercoaster, climbing uphill, trying to look around at the world below instead of focusing on the drop that lay ahead.

Michonne looked up and saw him when she heard his voice echo off the polished surfaces of the room. "Rick! Rick! Rick!" She chanted with breathless relief. The sight of his tall, heroic frame sent her tears spilling without reserve as she eased her weight onto her knees and heels. "Look!" She cradled the brand new hair covered head in the palm of her hand and tilted their little one away from her bosom so her husband could see the perfection they'd made. Michonne looked downright astonished.

"I had a baby! I had to push and she came out. I thought it was something I ate. But it wasn't. I caught her. People said if I was really in labor I'd know. But I didn't." She started one of her famous rambles. "I just thought the pain in my back was from moving. But the pain got worse and it was contractions, I think. Because then I had to push and I couldn't help it. And then I felt a head and I was like 'Oh shit'. And then I pushed again and she was here."

Rick's eyes were brimming, as he dropped to one knee beside his wife and wrapped his arms around her. She immediately relaxed onto his chest, resting her head back against his shoulder. He was so happy, there was nothing he could say as small deep blue eyes looked at him with what seemed to be recognition.

"Holy shit! Mimi you had a baby in the bathroom?" Shane's voice cut through the spectating murmurs as he grabbed both sides of his head in disbelief, absorbing everything in his view. He made a special point to not enter the space, afraid he'd somehow hurt the baby; even though she was safely tucked away in his sister's arms.

"She had a baby? By herself?" Sasha came up behind Shane, swaying left to right from her liquid celebrating and pushed him to the side for a spot in the doorway. "A whole baby? Mimi, why didn't you come get somebody?"

"Because I was busy _having_ a baby, Sash."

"You should've come and got me," Sasha slurred and touted, "I had a lot of babies. Rick!" She shouted loudly, "Make sure she breathes."

Michonne saw Tyreese peek into the bathroom. "Blankey, please come get your sister!" She groaned through the pain and watched him guide the intoxicated little lady away. Tyreese was glad to go before anyone remembered his second major was biology and tried to get him to help pull any babies out.

Having Mother Rhee there was a blessing since she had helped many babies enter the world. No matter that they were usually of the animal variety, the standard care for mother's and their newborns were all pretty much the same. Glenn's cousin, Ashley, who found Michonne with the baby, returned with a First Aid kit, a large bowl of warm water, some freshly laundered towels and tablecloths on Mi-Sun's instruction. She moved quickly and nervously, eager to help but, like Tyreese, insistent on remaining consciously blind to the frightening miracle around her.

"Babe, record this. I left my phone at the table," Michonne begged with saucered eyes when it finally hit her that Rick had missed the first baby's birth. This whole thing was supposed to be professionally recorded at the birthing center. She had paid a videographer to be on call for the big moment and now she had to settle for whatever her iPhone could deliver. Desperate times, and all.

When she asked for Rick to get her phone he said, _On it, Chonne_ and left to go get it. But that was only in his mind. In reality, he didn't speak. He didn't even move. He just held on tighter to Michonne, staring at the gorgeous little being in her arms. He felt kind of stupid to admit that even at his age, TV had him believing that labor would go a certain way, but he didn't even get a commercial break. Never in a million years did he think he'd walk into a restaurant bathroom and walk out with a baby.

Another contraction hit her and she finally passed the baby to the outstretched hands of Mi-Sun, who, went to work positioning the squirming little body head first down her arm and rubbing her back and ribs. At being taken from the warmth of Michonne's breasts, a more plaintiff cry came from the new set of lungs.

"Oh my God! Mimi!" Andrea squeaked standing beside Shane and fawning over the little kicking screaming newborn. But then she caught a glimpse of the bloody looking tissue in the sink with it's alien-like cord attached. "Ew, Mimi, gross," she whispered under the cover of her hands. Her elbows raised like Shane's as she palmed both sides of her head, too, thinking about herself in this same scenario a few months from now. "How much did it hurt?"

"It didn't kill me."

"How does your va-juicy feel?"

"I think it's the juiciest it's ever been. But not in a good way."

"Oh God. Do you think it's ruined?"

"I think I'm good." Michonne answered her friend through the blinding pain of the contraction ripping her apart with more patience than she'd had for her drunk sister. She had the presence of mind not to freak Andrea out with too much info and managed to speak rather calmly, as if the blonde had just asked her her favorite shade of nail polish. "It happened so fast." The contraction reached a crescendo and Michonne grit her teeth. She balanced herself with the aid of Rick's strong tanned forearms on either side of her as he silently kneeled behind her, supporting her teetering position as she went back up on the balls of her feet. She amazingly continued in conversation with her best friend, "There's still one more in there, Blondie… but pray for... elasticity…" she panted.

"Baby numbah two gonna come more quickah!" Glenn's mother warned in her bossy Konglish accent to get Michonne focused on what she needed to do. Rick's eyes bulged and he took a deep breath, preparing to actually see what he'd missed the first time. The sweat-slicked woman in his arms caught Mi-Sun's drift and got serious. She knew what she needed to do.

Michonne called her brother, "Bubba..."

Shane slowly took his eyes off the wet imbroglio before him and looked Michonne directly in the face. "Huh?"

"Bubba please hurry up and get my cell from the table to record this. Rick… Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!" She winced. "Rick seems to be malfunctioning." Shane nodded and bulldozed through the crowd. As he was leaving, the sound of sirens could be heard outside.

Abraham took matters into his own hands. "That's my sister-in-law's ride, folks! Make a hole!" Anyone moving too slowly was picked up by the shoulders and transported to another spot. He was pleased to see a friend of his wheeling in the stretcher. The three-person team in navy blue was directed to the emergency by Carol and Daryl and dispersed into the bathroom, setting about their work.

Mi-Sun stood watch as one of the first responders took the baby, unwrapped her from her temporary tablecloth swaddle and found her wiped clean of any birth canal goo. They suctioned her nose and mouth and clamped her cord. The youngest team member, a sandy blonde guy, began unfolding a bright blue medical pad on the lowered stretcher and then helped Michonne up onto the rolling bed, securing her there. They performed their own check up on mother and child.

The tall, brown skin woman with a man's haircut, who introduced herself as Bertie, was taking Michonne's vitals. The new mother recognized the man with long gray locs from Sasha's baby shower, the patient huffed through a grateful smile . Rick would have recognized him too, except, in the midst of all the shock, he seemed to be in a waking coma.

The leader of the emergency medical team bounced the baby in his arms. "Hey Rick. Good to see you again, man. You're looking kind of starstruck," the man chuckled. "Like to cut the cord?"

Rick had been engrossed in conversation with Ezekiel Guy and Abe about fatherhood the night of Belly's baby shower. Zeke had just had his first and only child and, like Rick, was getting started on a proper family later in life than he'd planned. The man in his fifties was over the moon about his daughter and Abraham was all ears since his first and only daughter was on the way.

Rick could relate. He didn't have a daughter and wasn't expecting one anytime soon, but the ring that waited in his coat, two floors above him that night, had him feeling optimistic about a future family.

Ezekiel had warned the men about how easily a baby girl could disarm her daddy and now Zeke watched it all go down like he'd promised. Rick stood there and swallowed hard with wide eyes. "Come on. You can't hurt her." The medical technician promised him in an encouraging tone as he handed Rick the medical shears from his rubber gloved hand. "Now, the cord is really thick and rubbery. You have to cut really hard to get through it." Rick followed Zeke's instructions and when the baby was free, the older man placed the crying little girl into her father's arms. "Good work, man. That's all you."

Rick came to life when he felt the weight of her in his hand. She was screaming bloody murder and the eyes that had been fixed on him from his wife's arms were closed tight along with her tiny fists of fury as she gave everything she had to her shrieking screams until she turned a well-oxygenated red.

"Oh, darlin'. Hush now, sweetheart," Rick said, finally finding his tongue. He scoffed in disbelief of his blessings. "You're perfect just like your momma. Ain't ya?" His voice drifting down in just a whisper as they studied each other nose to nose. He watched her squirm and wiggle until her cries mellowed to more of an murmur and her eyes opened again. "Can I kiss her?" He turned to ask Ezekiel, unsure of the health risks to her emerging immune system.

"Like I said, buddy, that's all you. Look how she's staring up at you. I think she's _expecting_ a kiss from her dad."

Big cobalt eyes blinked over chubby cheeks, a sloped nose and the perfect plump lip- the shape of Cupid's bow. He closed his eyes, leaned closer and touched her forehead with the lightest peck. Lifting his head for her reaction, he found her more serene and her fist was being seriously suckled. "You hungry, Darlin'? You got ya mama's appetite too?" He chuckled at his joke and glanced over at an exhausted Michonne, who was taking this moment between contractions to endenture, Ben, the young EMT as her substitute cameraman.

She paused in the middle of explaining her best angles when she saw Rick had snapped out of his stupor. There he was, like a dream, cradling their child. She let her head fall to the raised back of the stretcher and took the moment in. The picture before her seemed to mesmerize her and she forgot where they were or who was there. She felt like the outside world went away for a moment.

It was like the night she went to his self-defense class and all professionalism was thrown out the window, leaving only the two of them in a room full of eye rolls from jealous women who couldn't care less about self-defense as long as they got a turn against that solid, wide chest. It was like the night she demanded that ring in Sasha's basement after the whole Lori and Shane fiasco. It was like their first date all over again when he danced her into a spell. Only now he was dancing with another girl and enchanting her with the same spell.

Michonne couldn't be jealous, though. She was happy for this other girl claiming her man's affection. She knew that a daddy like Rick Grimes was the best thing she could give her and, oddly enough, Michonne was proud of herself that she stopped kicking and screaming and let him take her this far into forever.

"Ben! What are you doing?" She said with disappointment, pulling him by the sleeve of his arm, "Put the camera on daddy and his little girl."

"But I'm supposed to be wheeling you out." the young man answered with a tremor when he heard his supervisor call for the team to get moving. Ben shifted on his feet weighing which order to heed. Michonne shot him a quick version of the BME stare, but before he tasted her wrath, she was seized by the build up of another contraction. The EMT put her cell phone in his front shirt pocket, lens up, facing out, like a police officer's bodycam. "Sorry ma'am." He said, thankful that he needed to slip out of her line of sight to push her stretcher and follow Ezekiel out of the bathroom, "This is the best I can do."

Emergency responders, their well-dressed and moaning patient, her handsome husband with a soft, squirming bundle in his arms, Mi-Sun and her niece/ tentative 'nurse'- all exited the bathroom. The fast-moving caravan passed through the applauding spectators and their floating phones. Michonne got her wish for the moment to be recorded, albeit the amateur work of Glenn's colleagues and sidewalk observers, for at least the brusque ten second walk out of Happy Little Rhee.

"Sorry… about… ruining your… party, Glenn." She said sincerely through quick short breaths as she passed Maggie and Glenn on the way out.

He broke out into the biggest smile. "Are you kidding? This is awesome! Your babies are being born on my birthday!"

"Don't apologize, hun." Maggie offered with a wave. "Abe went to get Carl and we'll all meet you at the hospital." Michonne nodded and reclined again.

Daryl clapped Rick on the back in silent congratulations as his partner and life-long brother climbed into the ambulance with the baby girl snuggled in his arms. Carol walked up to the open hatch. She was not one for emotional outbursts. The polar opposite of excessive, she was always surprised by how much she liked Michonne. She'd always assumed that fondness was more about how happy the bubbly young woman made Rick, but today she came to a different conclusion.

She sat Michonne's purse next to Rick's feet and fussed over the white sheet draped over the lower half of his wife. The older woman held her hand as Ben and Bertie prepared to lift the cot into the empty bay. Michonne's cheeks were inflating, somewhat comically, as she tried to manage her pain. Her brow knitted in confusion as Carol leaned in to give her an unexpected and offbeat hug.

"I just want you to know, I've always known you were a special woman. But now I know you are truly a phenomenon." She let her hand go so the EMTs could lock the stretcher in place. Rick quickly grabbed up his wife's hand, showering her knuckles with kisses. "Well, Rick Grimes," Carol called his attention away from his ladies for just a moment. Tears welled her eyes and she just had to tell him what she always hoped she'd be able to say to him, "Looks like you got everything you ever wanted now. And I don't know another man who deserves it more."

Bertie hopped down and jogged to the driver's seat. The engine jumped and the siren blasted as the ambulance took off slowly from the sidewalk into the evening traffic. Ben had a clipboard in his hand trying to make as many notes as possible for the waiting hospital staff.

"How are you feeling, Mrs. Grimes?"

"I'm having another contraction. They're coming… too fast for me... to catch my breath and … I'm tired. I don't know... if I can do it again."

Rick sat beside her with the newest little Grimes in the crook of his elbow. He had been watching Michonne do everything without him, like she normally did. But like it was with his pockets of tissues, he would do the smallest, most insignificant job if it meant he could serve her in any way. If all he could do was tell her he loved her, tell her she was beautiful, tell her she was brave- he would make it the greatest enterprise in the history of man.

He whispered in her ear as he kissed her cheek, "It's alright, Chonne. You're almost done. And you did it all by yourself the first time. You did perfect. You're amazin'. The bravest woman I know… you're so strong. I wouldn't want to do this with anyone else. My beautiful wife. You can do it, baby. You can. I love you. You can do it."

She moaned loudly and it broke Rick's heart to hear her in so much pain. He looked to Ezekiel, trying to read the other man's face for any signs of worry. Ezekiel gave him a reassuring smile but Rick was still a little anxious.

He realized then that she hardly ever acknowledged pain- unless it was in the form of some humorous comment that made him laugh instead of come to her rescue. She was tough and resilient. But he could see fear creep across her face when her eyes and mouth stretched wide but no sound came out. All her mental faculties were so occupied with enduring the pain, she couldn't spare a single thought for vocals of any kind.

"Well, let's do another check here and see where we are." Ezekiel said as he changed his gloves. He lifted her covering up past her knees and his hand disappeared underneath. "Well, folks," he said a split second later, "there's no way we're making it to the hospital. You're crowning, Michonne. These babies are in a hurry."

"Don't they know we don't rush forever around here?" Rick spoke again with his lips hovering at her hairline and tried to make her laugh. He succeeded in conjuring the slightest hint of a smile from her crumpled face. He was excited and nervous and fascinated by his wife and the marvel in his arms.

"Alright, Ben, ready for your first delivery?" Ezekiel asked with excitement. The young boy simply swallowed and grabbed up a new pair of gloves. "Michonne, you're gonna push with your next contraction and get to the hospital as a party of 4. That's what my young trainee, Ben, here, would call 'squad goals'." Zeke winked at Michonne. "You ready?"

She nodded and bore down. She made it look easy, Rick thought when, a few minutes later, his son's eyes were adjusting to the lights in the ambulance and wiggling in a blanket against Michonne's breasts. Most of the eyes in the back of the ambulance were wet with tears-

Ezekiel was emotional that he'd had a good day. So many times, the calls he got ended with irreversible injuries and heartbreak. But today, he got to see a miracle. The kind God performs everyday, all over the world and the most amazing part is, no matter how many times you see it and no matter how often it happens, it never gets old.

Michonne was overwhelmed that it was all over and she marveled at the instant crush of affection she felt for these tiny little strangers she knew nothing about. All she knew was that they were gorgeous and made from the best stuff on earth- pure love.

Rick was crumbling over the look on his wife's gorgeous face and his heart sank at the thought that maybe they could have missed all this if not for one simple call. Not the one that brought him home, the one that he'd interrupted on a sunny spring day. It was a day she was looking for a vice and he wasn't looking for anything at all- until he saw her face. From that point on he was looking to make her happy. Her glowing face certified he was doing a bang up job.

Little Steak, who seemed to be crying only to be heard, much as he would flip and kick in utero to be seen, was a darker shade than his sister. He was a pecan pie pigment, where Relish was more the color of a lightly toasted peach cobbler. Unlike her, he hardly had any hair. Other than a few wet wisps of wheaty strands at the very top of his head. The baby boy's features were sharp like his father's but his eyes were a mix of blue and gray, which gave him an angry appearance; especially as he tightened his brow to a scowl under the bright halogen lights.

Itty bitty Relish was content and cozy, staring up at the owner of the heavy voice above her. She was too busy being nosy, eavesdropping and memorizing the dreamy scent curling through her little nostrils to add her own voice to the mix. She could feel the soothing vibration from her daddy's ribs when he raised a chin to her brother and spoke to her mommy,

"Look," he chuckled. "Who's mean mug is that?"

Michonne saw it immediately. She had commented on it enough every time she saw Everett in a photograph. "Everett Gunner Grimes," she answered with conviction and a smile.

"Nobody but," he agreed.

"It's also the face you make when I'm testing your patience." She laughed and her shook his head not wanting to admit it. "Either way, this little guy is definitely a Grimes."

"We got our babies, Chonne. We did it."

"Nothing went the way it was supposed to. No birthing center. I didn't have my labor music. " She said with a bit of disappointment over Steak's loud fussing. "Carl's not even here."

"He's on his way. He's gonna be-"

"Mr. Grimes?" Ben interrupted, having resumed his cameraman duties with Michonne's phone. "Sorry. But your head is blocking your wife's light in the shot."

"Ben!" Ezekiel called the overzealous kid out of the sweet family moment as Rick looked up at the lights, confused.

"What?" Ben whispered back to his boss, "She was very specific with her instructions."

* * *

Michonne was asleep now, curled up under Rick's right arm. They maneuvered their bodies to fit between the bed rails on the thin hospital mattress. Rick laid on his back, his large hand cradling his newborn son. Carl sat in a reclining chair next to the bed holding his baby sister who was barely five pounds.

Both the babies had nursed and were sleeping peacefully after all the excitement of the day. They'd had a ride in an ambulance. They'd met hospital staff for check ups. They'd endured heel pricks and eye drops and were dressed in tiny long sleeved t-shirts. They'd met all their aunties and uncles. They'd taken dozens of pictures. They'd even had a surprise visit from Miss Viv, who gave them the blankets she started knitting for them the day she heard their heartbeats. She also gave them a stern talking too about cheating the birthing center out of a double delivery.

Finally, they got a serenade from daddy. An old familiar song. A song from Lyndi and Gunner about love that never dies. It was the song that gave the baby girl her name: Darling. Michonne just loved the way her husband said the word. It just came organic as soon as he saw her, that's what he called her. The more he said it, the more it sounded less like a lyric and more like her name. When Shane worked up the courage to hold the babies, he said his niece was a little angel (and therefore nothing like her mother, he joked through misty eyes). Rick thought it was the perfect middle name to follow a name as sweet as Darling.

The baby girl formerly known as Relish, was now Darling Angel Grimes.

Somehow, the nickname Steak seemed to stick. It was so much fun to say, Daryl suggested they put it on his birth certificate. Of course, they didn't. When Rick announced his newborn son would be Everett Richard Grimes for his father, everyone agreed that it was a beautiful way to honor him. Until, Daryl had a better idea. Gunner was a cooler name than Everett, according to Rick's oldest friend. When Carl agreed he looked at Michonne for her reaction. He found her smiling at his dad and all it took was a slight raise of her brow for the youngest member of the family to be Gunner Richard Grimes.

After trading text messages, gifs and pictures of the babies with Roe, Michonne was the first to go to sleep. Then the twins finally closed their eyes. Steak fussed a little, but Rick was determined to let his wife rest. He finally came off victorious when the little guy gave up the fight and fell asleep next to his daddy's heart. Now it was just Rick and a new big brother whispering over the sounds of little breaths and under the glow of the muted TV.

"She's so small... And she looks different than I imagined."

"What'd you imagine?"

"That she'd look more like mom."

"She does. You don't think so? Her lips and cheeks."

"Yeah. She does. I guess," he said, but he'd always envisioned miniature versions of his mom and dad, a little dark chocolate girl and another white son, like him. He couldn't say why. That was just the picture in his mind. Now that the twins were here, he saw that there was an assortment of features sprinkled over Gunner and Darling. Carl was trying to decipher the DNA of their hair, their eyes, their skin, when he remembered he had no idea what Michonne's parents looked like. He concluded trying to connect the dots was pointless.

A light came on in his mind as he looked at his sister and finally realized, without a doubt, why people say there is only one race: human. Because that's what you get when two people reproduce, no matter their color. You get more humans. Little adorable, sleepyheaded, milk-mouthed humans.

He scoffed to himself at how obvious it was when you hold one so brand new in your arms. Satisfied with his grasp on that truth, he changed the subject with his dad. "Sasha said when babies are little like this all they do is sleep and eat and poop."

"Sounds easy enough, huh? But Abe told me I'll have PTSD within a week."

"Well, Belly poops A LOT. I changed her diaper once and there was poop all the way up her back. She went through three onesies. It _was_ pretty traumatizing. Two babies will probably be like... a mudslide or something." Rick chuckled lightly, nearly succumbing to slumber himself, when Carl called to him, pointing at the TV, "Look, dad! It's you and mom… and Uncle Daryl … and Carol!"

Rick looked up and saw the eleven o'clock news airing cell phone footage of their exit from Little Happy Rhee. Having lived through the excitement of being there in real time, Rick couldn't quite muster Carl's enthusiasm though he chuckled at his son's wide eyes. He thumbed a button on the remote for more volume and heard the smiling female reporter say,

" _Local business woman, Michonne Grimes, went into labor and gave birth to twins today at a downtown restaurant. According to eyewitnesses, she had one baby inside the restaurant and the other was born en route to the hospital. She and her husband can be seen here leaving Little Happy Rhee with emergency responders. Talk about a two for one special. A family friend tells us the mother and babies are doing well tonight. Congratulations to the family and happy birthday to the little ones."_

The anchors made several more tired puns about buns in the oven and tipping the waitress double. Rick thought about waking his wife so he could blame making the evening news on her tendency to be excessive. Instead, he tightened Gunner's swaddling cloth and laid him in the shallow bassinet beside the bed with a kiss.

"This has been a day," Rick said softly, adjusting himself next to Michonne for a more comfortable position. He yawned, "Lay her down when you get sleepy, Carl."

"Okay. But I'm wide awake. By the time you wake up, I'm gonna be her favorite."

* * *

 **A/N: Whew! Okay. I'm so happy for them. Michonne can get out of those maternity clothes and get back into her stilettos. She is the first woman in history who has been pregnant for 84 YEARS! LOL**

 **And I'm so happy for me! I thought I would never finish. Writing this nearly killed me. As much as I wanted to meet the babies, I was kinda mourning pregnant Michonne. And also I put a lot of pressure on myself. There can only be one version of events, but I had so many ideas. What's more exciting than a Richonne birth?**

 **Anyway, I'm still writing. So more chapters are in the works.**

 **-comewithnattah**


	47. Chapter 47

**A/N: I owe you guys some fluff. Here it is with a cherry on top. A flashback to their wedding night and honeymoon. Thanks for reading. Have fun!**

 **~comewithnattah**

* * *

Michonne had shed a lot of tears in her life. She found herself preoccupied most of her wedding day thinking about the bitterness of her younger years. Whenever she remembered those old wounds, comparisons of her current life seemed to rush in like white blood cells to dissolve any threat to the joy a bride feels when love is vowed to her before God and men. Those fluffy comparisons did nothing to keep her tears at bay, instead, the pooling in her eyes only matched the swelling in her heart. She hated being so cliche, but it truly was the happiest day of her life.

Still, the feasting and dancing that followed was wearing her out. Though she was enjoying the festivities, Michonne had developed a headache. It hit her hard right around the time little AJ was trying to teach Carl, Enid and Roe how to do the Shoot and not one of his students had an iota of rhythm. It was obvious that Roe's knees were about to give out, still she hopped barefoot, trying to mimic Abe Jr.'s choreography.

Michonne wanted to escape the image of her pale-skinned loved ones busting an uncoordinated move. Not to mention it had become dire for her to get out of that heavy gown. So she made her way, yawning, up to the 'honeymoon suite' her bridesmaids had set up to be _their_ idea of the height of romance.

Scented candles courtesy of Maggie made the Blue Ridge in February smell like "Rainforest Romance". Michonne snorted in laughter at the blindfold, handcuffs, and a studded paddle left on the rich white threads of the down-filled duvet. She knew the blonde, depraved mind who had left those.

Unfortunately, Rick took too long saying goodbye to his brother and his brand new bride lost the fight with the sandman. She dozed off listening to what she knew was her sister's contribution to the room's ambiance. The late great Phyllis Hyman sang 'Meet Me on the Moon". The husky yet velvet quality of her vocals carried Michonne off quite quickly once she settled under her covers.

Michonne opened her eyes and was met with the shadows of the dark master bedroom. It took a split second for her to remember she was in an unfamiliar place as she felt the usual comfort of Rick's arm thrown over her shoulder and chest. The blue of the waning crescent moon floated in through the drafty glass windows of the old ranch house, helping the orange glow of the fireplace offer a little sight to her sleep-heavy eyes.

She lifted her head slightly and felt around the bed for her phone. The last thing she remembered was the faint background noise of people laughing outside as they loaded into their cars promising to link up again soon. She had said her final goodbyes by the front door, but Rick had followed the last of the guests outside to see them off.

She didn't know how long she'd been asleep. Any amount of time was too long since their time in seclusion was limited.

"Rick! Wake up!" Michonne bumped him with her body, annoyed.

"What?!" Rick jolted awake, reflex causing him to shoot up while covering her protectively with his arm. He gulped, stretching his eyes in the dark. "What's wrong?"

"We're sleep!"

"Jesus, Michonne." He sighed as he settled back on the simple upholstered support of the country-style headboard. He ran his hand over his face, bringing it down until it settled over his galloping heart. "You're gonna give me a heart attack."

She ignored his chastising, tossing her phone to the side and rolling her eyes at the time. She pulled the lamp cord between her fingers and clicked it on. "I told you we weren't going to be one of those lame couples who sleeps on our wedding night!"

"Oh," he looked at her, half amused, half asleep. "I thought you changed your mind because when I got up here… _you_ were sleep…" He said sarcastically as he reclined further into the mattress.

She lay on her back rubbing her eyes as she commanded him in a weakening cadence, "Well, I didn't change my mind. So, come on. Let's go."

"Damn, Mrs. Grimes." Rick rolled over into her arms. His body avoiding the prominent circumference of her belly. He lay alongside her and kissed along her shoulder, making his way to her neck. He joked, using a bit of Rosita's phrasing, "All the snow outside and you can't find no chill?" His soft lips pressed slowly against her skin, bulleting each word he whispered, "What's... wrong... with... waiting... 'til… tomorrow?"

He waited for some ridiculous headstrong comment as he suckled her ear lobe. But one never came. He raised his head and found her, mouth slightly parted, breathing lightly and knocked completely out. He leaned over her and doused the light.

...

Some time later, Michonne blinked up at the ceiling. Immediately aware of the paralytic sensation leaving her limbs, she groaned. As she attempted to lift her head, she found a face full of her husband's silky curls. Rick's head was settled in the warmth of her chest, snoozing unapologetically.

"Rick," she murmured with a whine as she slid out from under him. He hummed back, turning to chase more slumber. Michonne pushed at his shoulder, intent on rousing him, "Rick?" He pulled his head from the cottony crater of his pillow, looking her way with a hard, questioning squint he rolled over onto his back. "Wake up," she cooed, her voice much less abrasive than last time.

"We fall asleep again?" He felt her shimmy towards his body and throw a warm thigh over both of his. "I was having the best dream," he said, welcoming her cheek to the faint thatch on his chest. With her draped over his body, he ritualistically helped himself to a large portion of her meaty ass. Groaning through a small stretch, he told her with a tenor of pride, "You were in the middle of your 'famous one word speech'."

Michonne giggled at his description of the way she rambled his name over and over again whenever he hit her spot like a hammer hits a nail. She curled her palm around the tent-making erection just below his smooth, carved abs and huffed out a fluffy chuckle followed by a steamy moan. Raising up to kiss him on the hard muscle under her face, she confessed. "I was dreaming too. Mine wasn't as nice, though."

"What happened?"

"We were having a bit of a disagreement…" she sighed carelessly, "you were making some valid points, I guess. Lucky for you, that I can never stay mad at you."

"Good. Don't be mad at dream Rick," he said as he closed his eyes and took a long whiff of his wife's sugary scent. "He's a nice guy. What was the disagreement about?"

"It was kind of a bout Daryl… but not really." Rick's muscles tensed as Michonne lazily slid her hand up and down his stiffening shaft as she spoke, "He was there but he wasn't paying attention to us. He had a whole plate of fried chicken and he wouldn't give me any and I was crying."

"Fuck that guy," Rick joked, his words came out weak and unfocused as his breath hitched from her attention. "I woulda got you your own chicken."

Michonne laughed quietly. "That's what dream Rick said." She kissed his neck and tightened her grip on him, twisting her wrist slightly as she continued in a hot whisper. " But I didn't want you to leave to go get chicken. I wanted you to stay with me, put _Durl's_ stingy ass in a chokehold and give me some of _his_ chicken."

Rick was losing himself but he managed to catch most of what she was saying. "Babe, chokeholds are illegal," he responded with the first thing that came to his clouded mind. Michonne sucked her teeth in protest and Rick quickly revised his statement, "But if it means my baby gets her chicken then chokehold it is."

She rewarded him with another kiss to the neck, her hand still working it's magic under the cover. "You're so sweet," she said tasting his scent on her tongue and proving her words true. "Tell me more about your dream."

Her eyes were still tired but he tasted so good and he felt so big and heavy in her hand. Fried chicken was forgotten, still she was focused on a certain meaty bone. She dragged her lips down his body, stopping along the way at particularly yummy spots where his delicious skin pulled taut over his masculine brawn. His raspy voice, so deep and distinct, crept in the pitch of the room as he began to relate why his dream was so good.

"You were on top of me. Your hair kept fallin' in your face, so I held it back. It was dark. But not as dark as it is now." The bright roar of the fireplace had calmed to blackened logs streaked with snaking red embers. "I could see your eyes were closed tight. That pussy was so tight and then"

He pushed out a stifled breath and shook his head slightly in reverence. His own eyes were closed to better enjoy the feel of her suckling licks and his large hand was massaging her neck as she continued her snaillike descent down his body. "You were makin' that sound… like a kitten."

He rumbled out a moan as the vivid dream collided with her current touch. "I love the sounds you make… so fuckin' sexy. But all our guests were still here and you were startin' to get loud. I knew you were close and I was just tryin' to hold out, let you go first..."

Rick's face broke into a grin when he felt the sudden slack of her neck and the weight of her motionless head pressing into his waist. Her hand still held his large erection, though not as tight. He tucked an arm behind his head under his pillow and made a piece of his dream come true when he gently pulled her hair away from her face so she could sleep more comfortably. Her position and the inadequate light made it impossible to see her, but he still decided that the back of her head resting in the shadows was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen.

...

Gold-painted toes peeked from the tousled sheets. A pillow stood in for Rick, cushioning the weight of her leg and the swell of her belly as Michonne stretched. Her well-rested muscles felt so appeased, she snuggled up closer and recognized that the soft stuffing she'd wrapped herself around had too much give to be any part of her chiseled husband. Her eyes popped open and she made a limited scan of the room without raising her head at all.

"I just woke up completely and utterly unfucked from my wedding night," Michonne said with the straightest face, when she saw him crouched in red boxer briefs just beyond the bed in front of the brick fireplace. She really couldn't be mad since she realized now how much she needed the rest. It didn't stop her from trying to be mad, though. She sat up on her elbow and concentrated all her attitude in the swivel of her neck. "I'm trying to understand why."

"Will you even listen if I try to explain or are you gonna start snoring before I can even finish a sentence?" She didn't answer him, but her cocked brow and her emerging smile brought her husband in for a big kiss on the cheek. "Wasn't gonna fuck you anyway. It's married people's sex from now on," he said, pulling on a pair of plaid navy flannels. Something in the way his drawl kicked around that last sentence made her giggle despite her disagreement with his words.

He crawled over the mattress to her and she pushed him away with a pout. "I wish you would try to come near me with some married people's sex." She threatened, "My ire would send a hail of throat strikes upon you like the world has never…"

He cut her off with his intense blue stare followed by a slow, faint kiss. The stretch of his palm across her throat made her heartbeat quicken and he felt it as he stroked her pulsepoint with his thumb. He spoke against her lips, his voice low and rough, "I promise, when you get this married people's sex I got for you, you're gonna need somebody higher than God to call."

"Mmm. I want it now," she begged on a breathless whine, pulling him closer by the drawstring at his waist.

"If I get in it, Chonne, everythang we planned to do today is cancelled. Can't meet the horses. Can't take the carriage ride through the mountains," he whispered sweetly like he was trying to coerce candy from a baby. "Won't get to the waterfall. No pictures for the Gram…"

"I don't care. I want it now."

"Michonne, I got us a whole day planned."

She nodded with an innocent smile and lidded eyes, "Mhmm… I choose dick."

Reaching for his crotch and she pulled him down to a deep, premeditated kiss.

Even as her tongue connected and curled with his, Rick couldn't help but laugh at her wanton behavior.

It wasn't a bad idea, he thought- lazing around the rest of the day, making love to this heavenly body before him. He would have been lying if he said the way she craved him didn't swell both his heads and leave rational decision-making a challenge.

As tempting as her arguments were, Rick knew that giving his wife what she really wanted sometimes required gentle redirection. So, after a close call with giving, in he promised, "Baby, this dick ain't going nowhere... Now," he gave her the slightest squeeze and a full parting kiss that left her eyes closed and her head swimming. "Come downstairs. Got somethin' for ya," he told her as he left her there recovering from his touch.

….

With the body heat of the guest list and all the nerves, then all the dancing from the night before the chill of the 19th century ranch house went unnoticed. But as Michonne left the warmth of the master bedroom to go join her husband, she found that the skimpy red lace of her boho, thigh length cover up was no barrier from the cold on the nippy catwalk of the second floor. She immediately returned to the room to wrap herself in a white faux fur throw.

Holding the railing to compensate for her skewed center of gravity, she quickly pranced her way downstairs, excited for her waiting surprise. She slippered into the echoing kitchen. The timber all around her mimicked the warm brown in her excited eyes as she quietly inched toward her husband seated at the kitchen table. His broad back looked anything but plain despite his basic white tee. The image warmed her as much as the swaying fire in the large kitchen hearth overcame the winter of the room.

She heard him laugh, distracted by the video call underway in his hand. Still, he did not so much as flinch when she wrapped her arms around his neck putting herself in the camera's frame.

"Hey, mom." Carl's smile nearly vibrated the phone.

"Well, if it isn't my white son…" she smiled back with the same enthusiasm. "Bad news. Me and your dad checked and unfortunately our healthcare plan doesn't cover rhythm supplements."

Rick snickered and Carl droned out a fake laugh. "Ha ha. Funny," the young man responded dryly. "Enid likes the way I dance so…"

"Enid?" Michonne chuckled out the name. "Enid needs a whole rhythm _transplant_ so I can understand her confusion."

"Michonne, you're terrible." Rick scolded her with an unconvincing tone as he dropped his head to hide his grin from his son.

"Rick…"

"Leave him alone, Chonne. He got his two left feet honest from Lori."

"Come on, dad. I'm not as bad as her. Am I?"

A mental image of Lori dancing made Rick snort and he turned pink trying to keep a straight face. "How bad is she?" Michonne asked, compelled by her husband's laughter and her son's creased brow and concern.

"Uncle Daryl says she dances like a hunchbacked traffic cop."

"She waves her arms around like she's directing traffic…" Rick nodded and agreed, "But she always goes humpbacked whenever she dances… I don't know why."

Michonne's face twisted in disbelief. She stood up straight rubbing her watermelon-shaped midsection as though the very thought of an ass-less Lori struggling for the beat was sending her into a trauma-induced labor.

"So, she's like... a crossing guard... Quasimodo?" They all burst out laughing and Michonne seriously assured Carl over their cackling, "No, sweetie. You are not that bad. Thank God. Speaking of bad, your dad let me sleep the whole morning away." She narrowed her eyes, curled her lips into a phony snarl and pretended to choke him.

Carl chuckled at their familiar antics and Rick jumped up from his seat, remembering the final touches for his surprise still had to be completed. He turned the phone and conversation over to Michonne and hurried to his work station on the kitchen counter, forbidding her to peek at what he was doing.

"But you love to sleep the morning away… almost as much as I do," Carl reminded her.

"Yeah, but not on my one day honeymoon! It's a mini-moon, really."

"Okay," Rick interrupted, ready to reclaim his wife. "Tell Carl we'll see him tomorrow. Goodbye, son."

"Well, Son number one, looks like daddy's got my surprise ready. We'll be home tomorrow. Love you. Be good."

"Alright. I gotta go practice my moves anyway."

"Bye, silly," Michonne cackled as Carl demonstrated a jerky and sad little dab.

A chaotic metal clang came from the other side of the kitchen where Rick was hiding his secret task. His wife dropped her shawl and shot out of her seat to come to his aide. "I'm okay," he assured her as he sucked the tip of his index finger with a grimace. Michonne looked at him skeptically as he approached holding a tray covered by a large cloth napkin. "Sit down. I'm okay," he repeated with amusement at her pretty browns, wide with concern.

He sat the tray on the tabletop beside her. "Let me see your finger," she demanded with an impatient huff and an open hand.

Rick also pushed out an impatient exhale. His hard-earned surprise for her was being overlooked because of a slightly singed finger. But he knew that in order to get back to his offering, he had to sit and be fussed over. So he shook his head through a smile and complied without any objection.

Rick couldn't help but watch her with delight as she gently examined his digit. The sting was all but gone, but he showed her the unscathed pad of his pointer when she asked him where it hurt. He listened to her chastising ramble about how the oven mits hanging on the wall were there for a reason and her thankfulness that Roe kept first aid kits in the kitchen and the bathrooms.

He kept his eyes on her sexy backside as she marched away and adored the shape of her brown belly covered in crimson lace as she stomped her way back with a plastic blue and white box. Looking at her gorgeous form and the excessive attention she paid him, he had to be proud of his wife and happy that his children had such a mother.

"You've got to be careful in the kitchen, Mr. Safety and Precaution," she stood between his legs and scolded. "You have to be careful with every piece of Rick Grimes. Am I clear?"

"Clear," he answered, as he inspected the band-aid on his finger and watched her pack up the first aid supplies and return them to the maplewood drawer by the stove.

She returned to stand above him, the growing babies they'd made on full display in front of him. This instinct to mother and nurture was a new side of Michonne and Rick was in awe of how good it looked on her. His palms caressed their little unseen gems and he laid a kiss on her navel through the thin fabric of her negligee, closed his eyes and revelled in the feel of it all.

"You have to be careful with every hair on this handsome head," she told him in a much sweeter tone. "Especially the ones made of precious metal." Michonne referenced the strands of silver arraying his crown and scraped the nails of one hand along his scalp, pushing his shortened brown curls back, her other hand followed in tandem. Slowly she combed through his hair as he rubbed his forehead, nose and cheeks across her belly.

Her warm fingertips lifted his head bringing his gorgeous eyes back to her gaze. "Be careful with these lips. Especially this one." She leaned forward for a kiss and captured his pink bottom lip between the wet cushions of her own two lips, much fuller and darker than his. "And these fingers. Especially this one," she said with his bandaged finger against the purse of her lips.

For a second time this morning his head was swimming with desire for his seductive bride. He painfully reordered his thoughts back to their plans for the day and walked himself back from the edge of weakness. But when he looked into Michonne's eyes he didn't see the playful glint he normally saw.

Something in the amber flares focused on his face told him she was voicing a real concern of hers. It wasn't ever anything she seemed to worry about before, but he could tell a joke wasn't what the mood called for. He pulled her into his lap, kissed her shoulder and whispered against her skin. "I promise I'll always stay in one piece for you, baby."

Rick's face stayed nestled in the curve of her neck, all his intentions of fidelity and finality beating through his chest like morse code. Neither said another thing as the seconds passed and the logs in the fire just sat, still and quiet, in the easiness of their love until Michonne swallowed the lump in her throat through a smile.

"Make sure you do," she said, shaking off some of her emotions. "Now, what is this surprise you made me that almost cost you a hand?"

From Rick's lap at the rustic kitchen table, Michonne enjoyed a plate of fried chicken and waffles that Rick had gone out to get that morning to make up for dream Rick's lack of instinct and savagery. Fresh churned butter, fresh maple syrup and fresh cut flowers accompanied the meal. They ate from the same plate, Michonne feeding them both as Rick hummed along to the playlist of Sasha's Honeymoon Grooves.

Patti, Anita, Chaka, Stephanie and Sade all joined them for a late breakfast, though there was not another soul around for miles. All of the serenades were belted out with pretty lyrics as each singing starlet tried to outdo the sweet melody of Mr. and Mrs. Grimes' laughter from the heart of the ridge-side home.


	48. Chapter 48

"Congratulations, man." John "Wind Hawk" Burnett, shook Rick's hand heartily as they both stood in the white landscape, waiting for Michonne. The occasional frosted breath from his quarterhorse, New York, misted the warming air as he poked around the little strands of dead grass left exposed on the edge of the shoveled front yard walkway. Jamaica, a speckled appaloosa, flirted with Rick, enjoying his heavy strokes to her neck and shoulder.

John lived there on the ranch and took care of the place for Roe, with his wife Nora. A few shades darker than Rick, he was a handsome man with a lazy salt and pepper coif and a gleaming smile. An Occaneechi native American, the horse-breeding mountaineer was warm and jovial, taking a shine to Rick right away.

"Thank you. Thanks. I'm a lucky man."

"Well, you picked a perfect day for a ride."

Just then, the rolling crush of carriage wheels over the new fallen snow announced two beautiful fillies, London the draft horse and Nora Burnett, who swept her wavy blond hair behind her ears, under her cowboy hat. The excited pair came to a stop in the middle of the fenced-in lane.

"Well, Rick Grimes, where's that pretty, round wife of yours?" Nora said as she jumped down from the buggy.

"Mornin', Mrs. Nora. Left her in front of the mirror when I heard John out here. She was dressed, at least. I expect 'er before nightfall."

John's gorgeous plain-faced wife grinned at Rick's wisecrack. Michonne was a doll baby as far as she was concerned. The excessive nature of the city girl amused the rough and tumble, denim-loving highland woman.

"There's our glitter girl." Nora nodded back toward the doorway where the tardy party stood in a sassy pose. She presented her finished look for their mountain tour with one leg bent by a pointed toe, a hand on her hip and another above her holding the door's frame. "Cute as a cupcake."

Rick turned to see his wife in her burgundy puffer coat. The silky outer shell and the unusual asymmetrical cut was unlike anything their country sherpas had ever seen. Her cream angora beret fit snugly over her locs, topped by a furry pom pom.

John gave a look to Nora that translated to amazement at Michonne and Rick's adorable pairing. Rick's practical waterproof rubber-soled boots matched Michonne's as he jogged back down the walkway to escort his lady to their ride. The high-heeled knee boots she wanted to wear were nixed by her safety-conscious husband. But he did not miss her protest of replacing the utilitarian brown laces with sparkly gold ones.

"You dressed warm a'nuf?" Rick asked her as he kneeled to tie her boots.

"Got on my warm and fuzzy socks and my warm and fuzzy leggings," she did a little shimmy with her hips and Rick looked up to her beaming face with his most disrespectfully gorgeous smirk. "I could be a little warmer, though," she said in a saucey tone, compelled to lean in for a kiss.

"Don't you start."

…

Nora and John rode their horses side by side up the winding road of the mountain a few hundred yards ahead of London and the two lovebirds she pulled in the carriage. The sun was bright and warm on their faces whenever they rode through a clearing on the trail. The blank carpet of snowflakes shimmered, here and there, with tiny pink, blue and yellow sparks reminding them, despite their cozy cuddle under their plush electric blanket, that it was February in Appalachia.

The newly minted Mrs. Grimes was on her worst behavior, as usual. Her hands were like renegades, massaging him over his fly. Her tongue tickled his lobe and her teeth grazed the bit of his neck left exposed when she unfastened the top two buttons of his coat. He was sure she was wet… because she whined graphic descriptions of her dampened state into his ear whenever he told her to cut it out.

He had to redirect her focus every time something interesting came into view or she would've missed the eagle's wingspan when it took off from the highest limb of a nearby tree. She wouldn't have seen the doe and her little speckled twin fawns or the red fur of the fox that stood still, eyeing them with curiosity as they drove by.

"You're missin' all the wildlife, Chonne."

"So are you," she shot back with innuendo and lustful eyes.

"What do I have to do to get you to behave on this mountain, Michonne?"

"Umm…" she rolled her eyes and raised her brow giving his question a few seconds of thought. "You could make me," she goaded him with a giggle.

She recognized the seriousness in his eyes that quickened her blood and made the muscles between her legs contract when he responded, "Careful, Mrs. Grimes. You know I'll give you what you ask me for."

...

Rick held Michonne close to his chest and London's reins in his hands as they took in the scenery around them. They rode through a tunnel-like canopy of high black branches overlaid with dazzle. Her gloved hands held his and she lost her focus to another breathtaking sight- the gold band on his finger. Michonne smiled with a sense of giddy accomplishment as she rotated the circular token back and forth under his large knuckle.

"I know wearing jewelry isn't your thing, but you sure look good in my ring," Michonne purred softly.

"Can't argue. Thanks for keepin' it simple, too. Knowin' you, I was worried I might have to wear a superbowl-sized ring for the rest of my life."

Michonne laughed, "Come on, babe. You know I wouldn't do that to you. I understand what you mean when you say 'be felt and not seen'." She repeated one of his personal proverbs as she laid her head on his shoulder. "That's more your thing than mine," she chuckled, "but I get it. That's how we made it here, you know. I made that call to get you back because when you were gone, I still felt you in the pit of my stomach."

"Well, I didn't know it, but I left you somethin' there to remember me by," he nodded to her expanding middle.

"Yes, you did. For a man with such a low profile, you do a lot of big things." Michonne rubbed her belly. "But, I'm serious, Rick. I felt you in my heart. You were always in my head… just… I think…"

He supplied the words. "The king is king by right."

"Yeah. He is. Isn't he?" She agreed, happy and convinced. "That would've been a great inscription for your ring. You have too many wise sayings Ghandi Grimes."

He repeated through a laugh, "Ghandi Grimes?... Nah, I like what you wrote. I love it actually."

"Really?"

"I do. I am the 'man of your forever'," he paraphrased the top line of the tiny calligraphy he wore snugly on his ring finger.

Michonne had debated keeping the second line, feeling like it may have been too cheesy or too silly for such a solemn occasion. But it was actually the first thing that came to her mind. A plain golden band would please her husband and serve its purpose but if _she_ was going to put it on his finger, there had to be a little extraness somewhere on it.

Rick quoted, "And I love the idea of being your 'security blanket'. But won't that make Tyreese jealous?"

Michonne sat up and covered her mouth when she realized the duplication. "Well, at least I didn't write 'my security blankey'," she pointed out the difference. "Guess I'll have to retire his old nickname. Honestly, me and Sasha call him that just to fuck with him most of the time. He always hated it. That nickname was actually her idea, anyway," she babbled on, nervous that he was disappointed in her gesture. "I'm sure it'd be easy to change if I…"

"Hey, Mrs. Grimes, can I interrupt your ramble for a second?" He switched the leather strap of the horse's reins to one hand and pulled her back against his body, wrapping her tight in his arm. "It's very clever," he assured her with a big playful kiss to her cheek. "And my favorite part about it is that it's very you."

...

Nora and John stopped up ahead and began to dismount. Rick anchored London to a low branch and helped Michonne down from the carriage.

"Come this way." John waved them over and they followed him through the crunch of settled snow. "Today we're gonna show you why Virginia is for lovers."

Michonne grabbed Rick's hand leaning on his arm as they walked a few more feet. They came to stand between their guides. The four of them all looking upward, heads thrown back.

"It's inosculation."

Rick and Michonne looked to Nora, confused and then back up at the gargantuan network of intertwined branches from two colossal trees. Large contorted roots rambled out below, disappearing into the frostbitten earth. The wrinkled trunks of both trees merged and from there on up into its height one tree was indistinguishable from the other.

"People just call'em marriage trees, but Nora knows the big scientific terms," John said. His eyes were still raised and marvelling as were Michonne and Rick's. "They get all tangled up like this and over time, they become one tree."

"It happens when two trees grow close together and the wind blows, from storms and such… the branches rub together and wear away the bark down to the cambium." Nora explained, "Cambium is a tissue layer where the cells are that make the tree what it is. You see, the xylem and the phloem..."

John interrupted, "Point is, once they strip away all the bullshit and get to the stuff underneath, two trees see they're the same. They become one, just like you and Rick did yesterday."

"Well, it's a little more involved than that, Hawk," his wife complained.

"Yeah, but this is the 'Sweethearts Trail' we're on, honey. Too many science words kills the romance."

"I beg to differ. The science of it all proves it real and not just some fairytale nonsense." Nora folded her arms in defiance.

Rick's training kicked in and he set to deescalate the situation on a reflex. "I guess no matter how you look at it, it's incredible. Right, 'Chonne?"

"It's beautiful," Michonne said simply though her mind was full of a deeper understanding.

Here, they had gone through storm after storm, Hurricane Lori, Hurricane Florence. Shane was more like a tropical depression but the biggest threat of disaster was Hurricane Michonne. The Michonne she used to be out of necessity, before she found her peace and became the grace and beauty that is a tree.

She was just spinning in the middle of the ocean gathering strength that only manifested as misguided anger and pettiness. Whenever she made landfall upon any man's shores, he came away battered and she left diminished in some way. Her remnants heading back out to sea to start all over again.

Rick was undeniably an agent for her change, but she breathed in deep the mountain air, letting it swell her chest with pride. She knew, all Rick's patience and love and goodness wouldn't have done a thing to reach her if she wasn't worthy, if she wasn't willing to change.

She reached out and touched the corrugated trunk of the red oak in front of her. The way it leaned into the broad skybound branches of the tree beside it, she could almost feel it breathe. Maybe it was a sigh. A contented sigh. Happy to be rooted, in the light of the sun, growing strong with her beloved ally for the next hundred years.

Who would have thought…

"We're trees, babe," she turned and said to her husband with wonder.

John grinned at Michonne's declaration of botanical rebirth. "Folks say if you kiss your soulmate under the branches of a marriage tree your lifelines merge and you'll crossover into the next world together."

"Which means you'll die at the same time," Nora said plainly and her husband laughed at her matter-of-fact personality.

"Jesus, Nora… the romance…" John reminded her.

"Well, that's a heavy decision. Maybe Michonne here wants to spend that life insurance money if Rick dies first or maybe Rick would like to… do… whatever stupid crap guys want to do but their wives won't let them."

"Fantasy football." John grumbled to himself.

"Nope," Rick answered and pulled his giggling wife into the crook of his arm, planting a kiss to her temple. "Promised her forever." He looked Michonne in her oak-colored eyes, "I'm game if you are."

"Of course, I'm game. I at least owe it to Carl not to leave you as a handsome widower for Jessie to snatch up. Can you imagine him with Ron and Sam as brothers," Rick shook his head at Michonne's parody of a blended family with the high-strung Anderson boys and her cool-natured son. She handed off her cell phone to Nora to capture the moment. Pulling Rick behind her to stand under the arch of the conjoined trees, she threw her arms around his neck and looked up at his heart-stopping face. "Kiss me big enough for forever."

He happily obliged.

….

They rode a ways further up the mountain trail, stopping along the way at an old cabin that probably saw it's prime in the aughts of the 1900's. The dilapidated shell was all mortar and stones, collapsed and sprinkled with white like a picked over gingerbread house. The well-built chimney stood tall above the crumbled eastern wall. Sure to be a dwelling for forest creatures John went through, rifle in hand, and cleared the place before the others stepped inside.

The Burnetts explained that this humble abode belonged to a mixed race couple who lived secluded at this elevation near the freshwater stream, long before the road was built. They carved out for themselves their own little world and raised babies in the wilderness away from prejudice and turmoil in the aftermath of the civil war's upheaval.

Inside the home's frosted frame, a kind of glittery ghostly glee seemed to permeate the air. The love that had grown there had been absorbed into the walls and warmth emanated from the rocks and fallen beams. Her eyes welled up with the promise that they'd find a house to leave such an impression on.

There was no official record of the inhabitants of this plot of land. No archived genealogy and no census paper trail to prove the old legend true. Only a story passed down from parent to child in hopes that the world would get better.

The only sign of life to be seen were a broken table with three legs and piles of assorted junk that had probably come from upended dresser drawers when looters or scavengers took out any antique items of value. Michonne silently walked around, inspecting the scene for clues to the lives lived here.

Rick looked up into the sky by way of the absent roof. He wondered if the people who called this place home were smiling down, bestowing their blessing on him and his wife. If not, he thought the golden rays of sun striding the wooden girder over his head were beautiful and blessing enough for the day.

Michonne looked down, when the sole of her boot landed on a flat object under the snow. She swept her foot back and forth to uncover whatever it was from the camouflage of leaves and flurries. A round piece of wood laid at her feet. There was something familiar about its shape.

"Look, babe." She toed the edge of the item until it flipped over to reveal faded stains of brushed on paint. "Babe, look! It's a painter's palette! It still has color on it!" She pointed at the floor enthusiastically. Rick came to stand beside her, speechless at the fateful find. "Someone who lived here was an artist!"

"Looks like it," Nora agreed. "Do you paint?"

Michonne nodded vigorously, shocked silent.

"We've been in here lots of times and never paid it no nevermind and _you_ find it in the snow," John commented, walking over to get a closer look. "You wanna take it with you? A souvenir?"

Rick stooped to pick it up for Michonne but she touched his shoulder before he could grab it. "No… leave it. Maybe someone else like me will see it and feel the way I feel right now."

….

Michonne and Rick stood on the shadowy mountain shelf looking out into a cascading wall of water. The snow and ice that had formed further upstream impeded the usual roar of the fall. Instead the crystal clear water sluiced in a serene roll off the Nelsonite bluff.

Icicles, easily the size of any man, clung to the overhang of the mountain. Solid but slick, they dripped incessantly as the temperature pulled itself above freezing. The sunlight tickled through the crystalized spears, creating prismatic colors all around them.

Behind the captivated couple was a formation of pale brown sandstone. Dozens of names were cut crudely into the rock. Some recorded the date. Some enclosed their signatures in heart shapes. Some included x's and o's.

"For as long as anyone can remember, folks have come here to leave their mark behind Silk Mill Falls." John pointed to an easy-to-overlook pair of names scratched deep into the sediment with precise angles and lines. "Right here, you can see me and Nora participated in a little vandalism ourselves."

Nora took offense, "Don't say we're vandals, Hawk! We're lovers, just like everyone else on this rock. We're the ones Virginia was made for." She nodded resolutely. "When I first moved to this state to be with John it was one of the first things we did… set our love in stone."

"We never had any of our own, but sometimes folks even bring their children back to the falls to show them where their names were inscribed as a memorial to love," John said as he handed a pointed fragment of hard rock to an attentive Rick and a mesmerized Michonne.

Rick remembered being a kid with Daryl and Dwight. Never wanting to be at home with Florence, they spent their days stalking country roads, climbing trees, exploring caves and jumping in swimming holes. They grew up miles and miles away from Silk Mill Falls, but they did their fair share of destroying their own hometown and even making mischief past county lines.

He remembered the three of them spray painting curse words on a bridge for no reason whatsoever. And once when he was alone, he cut the name of a secret crush into a tree that was later struck by lightning. But doing this with Michonne didn't feel random or immature.

It felt like a big deal. He felt like there was so much more to come. Loving her felt like a waterfall from a source unseen, flowing unbid and unbound. This day turned out to be more than just a carriage ride through a majestic backdrop for him. It was full of reflection and hope and significance.

After Michonne and Rick followed tradition and worked together to leave proof of their legend, they took a few videos & selfies highlighting their engraved names, including the couple who'd led them on their way. Soon, the four of them made their way back up the hiking trail.

"Don't think that I haven't noticed you got me out here hiking, Rick Grimes." Michonne said, chiding her husband who held her hand, grinning a step ahead of her. "You ain't slick."

"It's hardly a hike, Chonne. We're almost back to the cart already."

Nora, the nature lover, ventured, "What do you have against hiking, sweetie?"

"This melanin, Mrs. Nora," Michonne answered with a one-liner that was more for her husband's reaction than the puzzled brow raise she got from John's wife. "That's just a joke. I'm just teasing Rick." She back-peddled with sarcasm only those who knew her well would hear, "I _love_ to walk up mountains."

…

They came to the end of their tour at the top of the waterfall. The sun, losing ground in the horizon, took back its lemony rays and saturated the sky with a tangerine blaze. The arrow-like tips of the tall evergreens in the sloping valley below, stretched out for miles, hiding the ranch where they began their honeymoon odyssey.

Rick and Michonne thanked the Burnetts for a lovely day. Rick was no stranger to horses and London was a sweetheart of a mare, so they left the newlyweds to watch the sunset with a warning not to stay until nightfall.

Michonne stood in Rick's embrace, looking out into the sky and the world beneath it. She leaned, her back against his torso, as his hands caressed soft circles back and forth over her belly. "So… happy we came?" Seeing as she was content to spend the day in bed, he had to know if he'd changed her mind.

"So happy. It's been a perfect, happy day."

"But we've been married over 24 hours and you're still standin' here 'utterly unfucked'."

She giggled at his use of her words, "Actually, I'm trying to see what this 'married people's' sex is all about."

"Oh, you are?"

She nodded slowly as she stood up straight and pulled him along to help her climb into the carriage. She settled in and reached out for him to join her. The innocent smile on her full painted lips only exaggerated the filthy look in her dreamy eyes.

London had no clue why Rick kept rushing her downhill with the click of his tongue, but she obeyed with an energetic trot. They arrived outside the ranch house just as Nora and John finished unsaddling New York and Jamaica in the stables. The horny pair were happy to leave their mode of transport to the professionals, rid themselves of their winter layers and wear each other to bed.

Nora tried to make a little small talk but John could see in the glances their guests exchanged that they needed to be alone. He felt like the Sweetheart's Trail had done its job so he discreetly reined in his wife, "Wha'dya say we let the Grimes get to bed, honey."

Rick and Michonne threw a quick 'thank you' and an even quicker 'good night' back over their shoulders as they made their way to the front door, unable to keep their hands off each other. But as soon as they stepped over the threshold, something in the mood switched.

The playful giddiness gave way to something hotter and more intense.

Michonne shoved off her coat and Rick did the same. She stood a few steps in front of him, pulling her patterned sweater over head and losing her hat in the process. Her hair, in limp curls from her updo the day before, scrambled to frame her pretty, plumper than usual face. Left in her white maternity chambray, she slowly plucked at the buttons trailing down her chest.

So focused on every move she made, the sudden growth in his jeans made Rick reach for his crotch instinctively. He kept himself a safe distance away, his back planted firmly against the large wooden door. Since the day began, his restraint had been stretched thin but she was a big-budget blockbuster when she wanted to be, so he stood attentive to her craft.

The cotton shirt she wore slipped off her silken shoulders and floated down to her feet. Like earlier, her womanly parts were held by lace, the color this time a peachy pink that Rick had never seen. Michonne's coffee bean peaks stiffened in the nip of the room when she unclasped her bra and added it to the pile on the floor.

Her palms slid around, under and up the curve of her full breasts. She teased her nipples between her index and middle finger as she presented them to her salivating husband. Eyes like the blue sparkles in the snow moved over skin hot, tawny and smooth like the magma that turned to mountain rock millenniums ago.

Each second that passed he found it harder to keep his hands in check so he occupied them by pulling off his boots and tossing them to the side as he stalked closer to her body, then he knelt to help her out of hers. The swell of her pregnancy blocked her view as he faced the apex of her thighs. She could feel him so close to the wetness she'd confessed to hours earlier. Michonne shivered as he ran the tip of his nose between her smooth lower lips with a gentle vertical brush, nuzzling her clit out from hiding.

"I've been trying to think of someone higher than God to call. I'm at a loss. Guess I'm at your mercy," she said and bit her bottom lip.

He stopped and looked her in the eye and assured her, "You won't find none here."

He yanked her leggings down just over the jut of her wide hips, the sweet notes of her arousal pulling his tongue out for a taste. He licked her through her soaked panties. His warm breath penetrated the layer of the woven mesh, the thinnest barrier to her aching bud and yet it was no barrier at all. He roughly gripped her fat, velvety ass and she tugged at his head with the same disregard.

His day old stubble sent tingling from her thighs to her sopping core. The soft fabric tempered the scrape of his teeth when he held onto that sensitive piece of her womanhood, turning and twisting his head back and forth, gently, like a shark's tail sweeps through warm ocean tides. He suckled her there, the sound of him drawing out moisture from the thin tight knit threads and his hungry moans made her weak in the knees.

She wanted his tongue inside her and everytime it pressed against her opening on an upward lick, she whimpered, greedily pushing her hips forward. "Let me… Rick… let me take these off."

"For what?" He spoke while still accosting the entrance to her sweetest spot. "You want somethin' else?"

"Yes…"

"Oh, I'm not givin' you enough?" Michonne knew that was a loaded question. If she said yes, he was liable to torture her like this for minutes on end. If she said no, he was going to snatch her soul without the courtesy of any last rites. "Speak up… so I can hear you…"

Rick enjoyed pleasing his wife. He knew how to do it. He was an expert. He taught her things about what she liked that blew her mind on more than one occasion. But Rick wanted to awaken something else inside her.

When they made love, she relinquished all control to him. Rick taking charge suited them both very well. Still, she was a boss in her day to day life just like him. She never shied away from making demands or giving orders. That was in her, he knew. She wasn't like his first wife, with all her frustrating timidity.

Maybe guys like Mike didn't have the backbone to hear her out and follow instructions. Rick, however, was light years ahead of that macho foolery. He was going to make her get over the ridiculousness of that learned behavior, today.

"You know what I want, Rick. You know," she whined.

"But where's that mouth of yours I've been hearin' all day?" He rubbed her clit with his finger, still coming back to tease her hole with his tongue. "Where's Ms. Wildlife?" He pulled at her panties now and brought them down with her pants. Michonne stood there naked and reeling. He tore off everything on his strong upper body and waited another beat for her to respond.

Michonne stuttered.

He stepped forward, grabbing the ends of her locs and pulling them down her back. She met his eyes as her buoyant breasts crushed against his bare chest. "Ms. I choose dick…" he slapped her behind with his other hand and fondled away the sting. "I'm your husband. You can't tell me what you want?"

Rick crossed the room, unzipping and discarding his pants and boxers as he went. He sat down on the large rustic leather sofa. "Come and stand right here."

He nodded to the spot between his big feet. Arms spread out over the back of the couch, he sat wide-legged. That torrid cock of his stood tall on full display, hardened like a criminal and ready for solitary confinement. Michonne took a cautious step, her legs still noodly from his tongue, and now the sight of his perfectly heartbreaking body.

"Not like that," he stopped her in her tracks. "Like you're walkin' into a business meetin' and you're not about to take anybody's shit. Hold your head up and look me in the eye."

She giggled.

"Don't laugh," he said with a straight face and a slight shake of his head. Michonne wiped the smile off her face. He took himself in his hand and touched himself like she would, like she had last night, though his unintentionally heavy handed strokes could never achieve the feathery caresses of her fingers. "Let's go. Game face."

Michonne took him seriously and followed his instructions. Her eyes were set on his, her shoulders were back. She held her head high with a cocky tilt, swaying her hips below her baby bump. "That's right," he mumbled as his hand went up and down his shaft.

The sun had set on her first full day as a married woman and she was horny as hell. It struck her, all of a sudden, that this was the upshot he wanted from the start of their honeymoon. Always playing the long game, her husband knew how to get her right where he wanted her. But two could play at that game, she thought.

She stood between his knees and swung her hair over her shoulder then put her hands on both her hips like she did when she was tired of the bullshit at work. "You come over here to get what you want?" Rick smirked, pleased to see she meant business.

"Don't laugh," she returned the serious face he'd given her.

"I'm not. Ain't shit funny. You gettin' on this dick, or what?"

"Not yet. Lay down." Rick did as he was told and stretched out over the three large cushions of the sofa. "First, I'm gonna ride that pretty face of yours." She squeezed her fingers around his chin as she straddled his head, holding onto the arm of the couch. She sat her bald pussy on her favorite set of lips and Rick eagerly lifted his head to get at the nectar she kept there.

"Lick my clit," she told him when she was ready for it. Her hands massaged her breasts. Her legs quivered with each pointed tap. She let out a sort of wailing grunt as she came closer. But she wasn't done with him yet.

"Gimme that tongue." She began to grind his head back into the couch as he wiggled as deep inside her as he could get. "Fuck, Rick. That's Right." Her fingers rubbed circles around her throbbing little knot.

He had found his rhythm attending to his cock, behind her while he charmed her pussy below her. She could just make out his eyes closed in ecstasy as her mid-section blocked the rest of the handsomeness she loved to see. But his moaning, measured breaths made her wetter and wetter as he swiveled his head under her swiveling hips.

"Eat this pussy, babe. Eat this pussy, Rick. Oh, fuck. Oh, shit. Oh… Yeah, eat it…" Rick pushed her over the edge with the swirling motion he quickly perfected the first time they made love and Michonne burst out in tears as she combusted with the fire of a thousand suns, still grinding on his slippery chin until she literally could not move.

Rick slid himself up from her treasure box, wiping the glaze from his face as she leaned back on her arms behind her and let her tears roll back into her ears. "You see how good that is, 'Chonne? See how good I follow directions?" He reached up and toyed with the locs falling over her collarbone and trailed a hand down to her heaving breasts. "What else you want, baby? What else you need?"

On shaky legs, Michonne stood up and commanded him, "Do that again," as she reversed her position.

A delighted, "Oh, shit," was the last thing that came out of Rick's mouth before his wife's dripping sex covered it up. His arms trussed her thighs, pulling her back onto his mouth. He tensed when he felt her wrap her lips around his length and take in as much of his dick as she could handle.

She backed off whenever she gagged as he thrusted up over her tongue. She lost focus whenever he decided to show off with a dragging lick that left her crying out, cussing and contorting over top of him, but she somehow managed to keep her hand gliding over his girth like the neck of a bass guitar.

Quickly, she was coming undone a second time. She pulled him from her throat to scream into her chest as she lost her balance and caught herself by leaning against the back cushions of the couch.

There wasn't much help she could give Rick as he lifted her leg and maneuvered himself from the confines of her thighs. He told her she was a good girl and though she could barely hear him from the ringing in her ears, she felt him rescind all her powers and control.

Putting one foot on the floor and one knee in the couch, he pulled her ass up in front of him and slowly wound his thrusting hips until he settled in his rightful place deep inside her. The dull ache of pleasure sent her scrambling up to hug the couch and rest her forehead on its back frame in submission.

She felt his arm curl around her chest, kneading the heavy flesh there and twisting her nipple until her walls spasmed around his long, thick cock. His other hand closed around her slender neck, pulling her upright with her back against his chest.

"You can still tell me what you want, swee'heart…" he promised her and let her fall back to the support of the couch. He rubbed his hands slowly along the lines of her back, withdrawing a couple inches from her tight warm canal. She knew it was a false comfort, still her eyes rolled back at the sensation. Rick added a cocky caveat to his promise, adding,

"If you can."


End file.
